Rules of Engagement
by Proseac
Summary: Gibbs & his team race against time to prevent an international incident when Navy computers at Fort Meade are used to send an unauthorized, encrypted message. Meanwhile, Tony finds out there's more to his best friend's sister than meets the eye. Tony/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** T for language in future chapters

**Disclaimer:** They belong to CBS, not me. But I can play, right?

**A/N:** This is probably _way _too ambitious for my first multi-chapter fic, but what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. In the past I've not paid much attention to the Middle East situation, so I've done a crash course of research in the last few days to get up to speed. This is an almost-real-time fic, spawned from the May 31, 2010 Israeli Flotilla raid that's been all over the news for the past several days. I wish to make it clear at this point that although each character has their own particular POV regarding these current events for dramatic effect, this is NOT a platform for my personal views on the situation or anyone else's. So please don't flame me if what you read conflicts with your personal take on the facts. I'm getting my info primarily from The Globe and Mail newspaper, Wikipedia, and various other websites, including Israeli, North American and UK sites, trying to get a balanced view as things unfold. It's definitely not TIVA - Tony D. and Ziva D. figure prominently but in separate, dovetailing story arcs. It also introduces a few characters of my own devising, who I plan to keep on using in future fics (assuming this story doesn't lead me to kill them all off...) One story arc is my attempt at serious Suspense/Crime fic, the other is shameless romantic drivel. My plan is to alternate story arcs in alternating chapters. I'm in _almost _over my head here, so please review!

**July 7/10 Update: Well, the story is not evolving the way I originally envisioned it, but I have to let the characters take me where they want to go, so...not as much Ziva D. as I'd planned, more case-fic, not much romantic drivel either. Don't worry, it's coming in later chapters! LOL**

* * *

**_Sunday, May 30, 2010 5:12 p.m._**

"What you got, Leon?" Leroy Jethro Gibbs breezed into MTAC and squinted at the plasma screen in front of them. He'd left his damned glasses downstairs on his desk again.

Director Vance appeared particularly disturbed. He chose to ignore the irreverent address of his subordinate. "Central Security Service picked up an encrypted message being transmitted to the Israeli embassy 30 minutes ago. They've got the Tenth Fleet working on it right now." Turning to face the screen, he continued: "Rear Admiral Hank Penachetti, may I introduce Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Jethro, Admiral Penachetti is Commander of NETWARCOM in Norfolk, Virginia.

"Admiral." Gibbs nodded toward the plasma in acknowledgement. "The Tenth Fleet... Cyber Command?"

"Correct, Agent Gibbs. They were reactivated on January 29th."

The concern in the Admiral's voice had Gibbs on high alert. He gave a questioning glance to his superior. "Why would someone need to encrypt a message to one of our allies, within the United States?" he queried. "We have secure networks for ongoing communications with foreign embassies, there's no need for encryption..." He paused, thinking out loud, "...but if it wasn't an officially sanctioned transmission..."

"We need to find out everything we can about who sent that message, and why. And quickly," Vance muttered, almost under his breath. Despite his cool exterior, Gibbs could tell the Director was nervous. The clenched fist was a dead giveaway.

Gibbs eyed first Vance, then the Admiral. "And this involves NCIS...why?"

Penachetti leaned forward, clasping his large hands in front of him and staring intently into his webcam. "Because, Agent Gibbs, that message came from Fort Meade." Now it made sense. This could very well be an unauthorized use of Navy cryptologic and communications equipment, transmitting an unknown signal to what was technically foreign soil. Penachetti continued, "There's a small fleet, six vessels, just headed out a couple of hours ago from Cyprus. They're carrying 10,000 tonnes of humanitarian aid on board. But they're also carrying 700 pro-Palestinian activists. Our intel says their destination is Gaza."

The look of uncertainty on Gibb's face gradually gave way to a grim realization. "They're going to try running the blockade." He could see the pieces falling into place.

"Affirmative. The lead ship is Turkish. Our fear is that this message contains information about that fleet, something that could make the Israelis go all trigger-happy on us. They haven't exactly been showing restraint lately." The senior agent internalized and processed each piece of information instantly as the Admiral spoke. It would be highly embarrassing to the Obama administration if there was an "incident" in international waters and it later emerged that it had been triggered by a breach of U.S. Navy computer security. SECNAV would have someone's head if they didn't sniff this out before things got ugly. "We're already working the diplomatic angle with the Israelis, and we've got the cryptologists in the Tenth Fleet trying to decipher the message. We need NCIS to find out exactly where it came from, and how. Whoever sent that message is clearly a National Security risk."

"We'll get on it right away, Admiral. Director." Gibbs gave Vance a rueful glance, turned on his heels and left MTAC, mentally assigning his team to their various tasks as he hurried down the stairs towards the bullpen. Even though it was after 5 p.m., he was not at all surprised to see his dedicated crew still at their stations, processing paperwork from their most recent case. "Tony. McGee. Ziva. Grab your gear – we're heading to Fort Meade."

The team exchanged questioning glances, as they all jumped into motion. "Boss?" Senior Field Agent Tony DiNozzo's raised eyebrows beckoned for additional information. Gibbs dutifully complied, as they headed for the elevator.

"There's been a possible breach of National Security, someone's using Navy computer equipment to transmit encrypted information to the Israeli government."

Ziva looked bemused. "We are allied with Israel, no? Why would they not share the contents of the transmission with us if it comes from an unauthorized source? Surely they would want to verify its accuracy." The newly-minted American citizen could not bring herself to consider that the government of her native land might have a reason not to cooperate with Federal authorities for such a basic request.

"It's not that simple, Ziva." Gibbs described the impending conflict between the Israeli Defense Force and the self-described Freedom Flotilla, filling in his team on all the relevant details.

"Zee-vah, now's your chance to prove you're a true American patriot!" crowed DiNozzo. She shot him a fiery glare, satisfying him that the quip had hit its intended target. He cringed as Gibbs swatted the back of his head, a little harder than usual. "Shutting up now, Boss."

The elevator reached the garage level, and Ziva, Tony and McGee automatically headed towards the waiting MCRT van.

Gibbs whistled through his teeth and motioned with his head for them to follow him to the other end of the garage, where the agents' private vehicles were parked. "I think it's best if we keep a low profile on this one," he mused. "I'll drive."

As they loaded their gear into the trunk and piled into the Dodge Charger, McGee was mentally processing the information Gibbs had shared. "Fort Meade houses the Defense Courier Service, the Defense Information Systems Agency, not to mention the NSA. A breach like this is unheard-of. How the heck could any unauthorized personnel get access to that equipment?"

"That's what you're going to find out." Gibbs gave his junior agent a knowing look as he backed out of his parking spot.

"Right, Boss." McGee shot a sideways glance at Tony, an altogether uncertain expression on his face. Anyone clever enough to commit this type of crime would surely be good enough to cover their tracks beyond detection. His gut told him Tony's smooth interrogation skills would be of more use in this situation than any computer expertise he might bring to bear.

And Ziva? Just what role would she play in this investigation, he wondered?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Tony's not mine...sure wish he was...

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1, and to all of you who have put my story on your Alerts list. And thanks for waiting so patiently for Chapter 2 - the old brain doesn't work well when you're doubled over in pain with stomach cramps...For all you Ziva fans out there, don't worry, she will feature prominently in future chapters. There's a lot of setup required first (I did warn you, this is a very ambitious effort and although I know where things will end up, not quite sure at this point how we'll get there).

* * *

_**Monday, May 31, 2010 5:37 a.m.**_

"Dammit!" Louisa Penachetti cursed as the almost-empty cat food bowl slipped between her shaky fingers and crashed to the floor, distributing porcelain shards and kibble crumbs all over the ceramic tile. Of course, Whiskers had to come and investigate immediately. "Get out of it!" she yelled at him, trying to steer him away from the dangerously sharp pieces with her right foot. She wasn't wearing slippers, and she tiptoed gingerly to the utility cupboard to retrieve a broom and pan, wincing as one of her bare size 5's landed smack on top of a particulary sharp piece of kibble.

She brushed aside a chestnut brown curl from her bleary eyes, struggling down onto her knees to sweep up the debris while simultaneously elbowing the cat out of harm's way. Squinting as she surveyed the floor for any remaining slivers, she picked herself up and brushed off her purple chenille robe. She had to pause a moment to catch her breath, thanks to the 20 or so extra pounds she'd gained in the last five years, which didn't sit very well on her small, 5'4" frame. She presumed that the extra weight made her less attractive to the opposite sex. But it was just as well that most men weren't all that interested in the only daughter of Rear Admiral Hank Penachetti. She didn't much like being around them either.

She pulled a cereal bowl out of the cupboard and filled it with fresh kibble. _This will have to do for now_, she sighed resignedly. Whiskers ran to the bowl and virtually inhaled the offering, completely ignoring his mistress now that he had what he wanted. _Just like a man. You're all the same, aren't you? Only interested in what you can get out of a woman._

What had possessed her to select a career in a male-dominated field, she couldn't say. She supposed it was simply expected. The Penachettis were a Navy family, had been for three generations. Reach for the top, serve your country, and marry an Italian; these were the tenets by which Louisa and her brother Peter had been raised. It all seemed rather ridiculous to her, especially that last one. Well, at least she was serving her country. Petty Officer First Class Louisa Angelina Penachetti, attached to the National Security Agency. But, unlike her brother, she hadn't followed the path of a commissioned officer, instead choosing a less 'glamorous' career as a cryptology technician. And, at age 30, still not married. A disappointment to her father (or so she imagined).

She held down the evening shift, 4 p.m. to midnight, and this night had been even more unpleasant than usual. That idiot Jake Halden was there as always, blowing spitballs at her and cracking dirty jokes just to get under her skin. Ogling her from the cubicle directly across from hers. Leaving suggestive notes in her desk drawer and under her windshield wiper (she knew it was him, although she saw no way to prove it). He was making her life thoroughly miserable. Didn't he have any work to do? She'd requested a transfer months ago, but they were short-staffed as it was, so the chances of that were about nil.

Trouble was, Jake was the 'golden boy' of the cryptanalysis/signals division. He'd somehow managed to decode an obscure cipher that had emerged about a year ago in North Korea and that had everybody stumped. The ensuing accolades had gone straight to his head, and he never missed an opportunity to rub her nose in it. She didn't have enough leverage to make a sexual harassment complaint. She was one of only 6 women in the entire division. It was an old boys' club. It would be her word against his, and she didn't suppose anyone would take her seriously. Come to think of it, she wasn't even sure he was aware of how annoying he was.

Every workplace had one, it seemed. From the way her brother Pete described it, his best friend Tony was just the same...a player. She couldn't quite figure out why Pete hung around with the guy - they seemed to have little in common. Pete was a family man, married for six years, with two kids. A JAG officer specializing in International and Operational Law at the Washington Navy Yard, he'd met Anthony DiNozzo on a case about five years ago, and for some mysterious reason, they'd hit it off. The only theory she'd been able to come up with was that by palling around with Tony, Pete could relive his bachelor days, albeit vicariously. To hear Pete talk, Tony dated (or at least, hit on) virtually every attractive woman he met.

Well, that let HER off the hook. Pete had never introduced them, and that had been fine by her. She wasn't DiNozzo's type anyway - too short, too pudgy, too...ordinary. One would not describe her as beautiful, but she had a simplicity and a freshness about her that exuded friendliness and warmth. She tended to downplay her positive attributes, which included almost perfect light olive skin and lovely brown eyes with just a hint of amethyst in them. She had a tiny mouth with a few less teeth than she'd started out with; 4 extractions and 2 years of braces had been required to bring her teenaged face into proportion. But the end result was a sweet smile that could light up a room. In public, she was always well-groomed, with perfect nails and just enough makeup to accentuate her lovely high cheekbones.

Her thoughts drifted back to the shift just ended. Tonight had been worse than usual, because tonight the spooks from NCIS had shown up, only two hours into the rotation, and the whole cryptology division had been shut down for several hours as all of them were questioned and made to feel like criminals. Apparently they suspected someone in her work area of sending an unsanctioned, encrypted message to the Israeli government, via their embassy in D.C. And the icing on the cake...she'd been escorted to the staff lounge, now converted into a makeshift interrogation room, and had come face to face with none other than Anthony D. DiNozzo. Twenty minutes later, she'd emerged, shaken and feeling more than a little guilty, despite the fact that she'd done absolutely nothing wrong. By anyone's reckoning, it had not been the ideal way to be introduced to her brother's best friend.

Louisa headed outside to water her plants on the balcony, then picked up the newspaper from outside her apartment door. Pouring herself a cup of camomile tea to calm her nerves, she settled down on the couch, turning first to the Sports section to read up on the latest Stanley Cup commentary. Perhaps that would help her forget about this disastrous evening. She would head to bed around 6 a.m., with a light-blocking visor over her eyes and Whiskers firmly ensconced in the crook of her neck.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Many sincere thanks to all of you who are following and reviewing this story - in particular, for your patience. This chapter took an inordinately long time to write, at least in part because I am dealing with some serious family health issues at the moment which are taking up a fair bit of my time. I will nevertheless try to continue posting regularly, hopefully once a week, since writing is a good outlet for me.

**Spoilers:** Minor spoiler for Season 3 episode "Untouchable". Major spoiler for Season 7 finale "Rule Fifty-One".

**Disclaimer:** All NCIS characters belong to CBS. The rest of 'em are mine, thank you very much.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30, 2010 6:33 p.m.**

Ziva had been unusually quiet for most of the drive to Fort Meade. Staring out the window blankly, her thoughts had drifted back to the words of the oath she'd only recently taken.  
_  
I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God._

It was heavy stuff; a serious commitment. And she'd meant every word. But now she found herself wondering whether the true implications of that oath had really sunk in. Perhaps Tony was right after all - perhaps this case would be a true test to see where her 'allegiance and fidelity' really lay. Now that Gibbs had fully briefed them on what he knew about the small fleet of ships heading towards Gaza, a sick feeling was starting to twist her stomach into knots.

Ever since Benjamin Netanyahu had been re-elected Prime Minister, Israel's relationship with the U.S. had gotten progressively more testy. The Mossad-trained operative in Ziva admired his firm stand against Hamas, and his fearless resolve to use force whenever necessary to protect the Israeli people. Nevertheless, she had come to appreciate from her time in America that, sometimes, brute force was not the best way to gain the advantage in a situation. No matter how vociferously the Israeli government maintained its justification for attacking Gaza in December 2008, Ziva knew in her heart that 'Operation Lead Cast' had done irreparable damage to the stability of the Middle East and to U.S.-Israeli relations.

Gibbs tore up the Baltimore-Washington Parkway like a man possessed; Ziva wondered why Tony always disparaged her driving, when their superior officer was obviously more of a menace on the roads than she. Had they not been wearing seatbelts, they'd all have gone through the windshield at various points along the way. Her stomach growled, but she didn't dare ask whether they could stop en route to pick up a bite of dinner. This wasn't the typical NCIS case. Most often, they had a dead body that wasn't about to go anywhere, and they could take their time documenting and assessing the crime scene. But it was very possible that any evidence of _this_ crime was being destroyed at this very moment; every second counted.

Admiral Penachetti had ordered all Naval Communications and Cryptologic units to stand down from their workstations, and no-one was permitted to leave the base. There were over 1,100 active-duty Naval personnel at Fort Meade. NETWARCOM had narrowed the field to 26 'persons of interest', based on their areas of specialization, access to the mainframe network, and linguistics skills. Ziva and Tony were to interview all of them; it was going to be a long night.

They decided to begin with the NSA personnel, focusing on the Signals Intelligence division. The head of the NSA, General Kevin G. Anderson, had been advised of their impending arrival by Penachetti, and he was waiting for them in the main lobby as they passed through security.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." Gibbs flashed his badge at Anderson. "My team - Special Agents Anthony DiNozzo, Ziva David, and Timothy McGee. General." Gibbs nodded in deference to the Director.

Anderson nodded back. "Agent Gibbs. We've set aside some rooms as you requested. This is Lieutenant Commander Steve Schumacher. He oversees security of our mainframe and networked communications systems."

"I've been authorized to give you complete access to our systems, Agent Gibbs. We're very anxious to nail this down quickly." Schumacher appeared more than a little shaken - he'd never had a breach under his watch before, and he was determined to do whatever it took to catch the perpetrator quickly.

"McGee -"

"Go with the Commander and establish a link-up with Abby. On it, boss." McGee and Schumacher high-tailed it to the Tordella Supercomputer Building, while Ziva and Tony followed Anderson into the SIGINT work area. To Ziva, it was all very reminiscent of their last encounter with such personnel, back in 2006, when they were looking for a suspected mole at the Pentagon's cryptology unit. These people walked a fine line between genius and insanity, had quirky personalities, and were hard to read. She wasn't at all convinced that their interviews would uncover the culprit, and hoped McGee and Abby would have some luck tracing the signal.

They scouted the various rooms, and decided to make the staff lounge their main base for interviewing. "If we're going to be stuck here all night, I want to be comfortable," was Tony's rationale. Ziva had visions of him stretching out on the sofa while she, now carrying the honorific title of 'Probie', got to do all the work. Not to mention the fact that there was a kitchinette in there, and they were both starving (Tony more so than Ziva; he'd skipped lunch in the hope of getting home a bit earlier). They dumped their equipment on a table, and Ziva set to work, plugging in the laptop and webcam. Tony already had his head stuck in the fridge, hoping to find something, _anything_, edible that didn't have someone's name on it. Ziva was casually admiring his cute protruding butt when she noticed Gibbs sidling up behind him stealthily. An evil grin spread across her face as she saw what was about to transpire.

"DiNozzo!" Another head smack, and Tony's nose almost landed in a wad of half-rancid butter. "We don't have time for you to be snooping around in here. Help Ziva, and get to work!"

"Ah, come on Boss, we're all starving! I haven't eaten for over 8 hours. I'm not sharp when I'm hungry. Can't we at least order in some pizza or something?" Tony pleaded, pulling his head out of the fridge and turning to face his superior. Gibbs got right into Tony's personal space, staring into his eyes with a confrontational glare, and for a moment Ziva fully expected things to escalate. She knew very well that when he was cornered like this, Tony would never back down. They stood that way for what seemed like an eternity. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Gibbs' shoulders relaxed, he pulled out his cell phone, and strolled out of the room without another word to Tony, ordering two 12-slice pizzas as he went.

Ziva chuckled. "I do not know anyone but you who could get away with that."

"It'll probably be cold by the time it gets to us," Tony grumbled, contemplating the circuitous route they'd taken to get here. He secretly hoped there was a bathroom adjacent to the staff lounge, because otherwise he'd have to ask some nerdy kid for directions.

"Stop acting like a spoiled child, and help me set up this equipment!" she snarled. "You do not have a monopoly on hunger. In Mossad we were trained to go for days without food if necessary, to accomplish the mission."

"Newsflash, Probie, you're not in Mossad anymore, you're an NCIS Special Agent, and we require nourishment in order to work effectively."

"I would hardly describe a Grand Hawaiian pizza with double cheese as 'nourishment', Tony."

"ZIVA! TONY! TICK-TOCK!" Gibbs stuck his head back in the lounge doorway and glared at them, pointing to his watch, then stormed off. They both realized they'd pushed the envelope as far as was advisable, so they refocused their attention on the task at hand. They connected the laptop to the NSA personnel network in order to review the files of those they were about to interview, then tested the webcam signal feed to Abby's lab. Every interview would be recorded in case they missed something the first time around.

* * *

Interviewee number 14 wandered slowly into the staff lounge, closing the door behind her, and stood, nervously scanning the room. Ziva was propped against the wall behind the door, facing Tony, sitting on the arm of the sofa with her ankles crossed in front of her, gnawing at an annoying hangnail. It was looking like this might be the only protein she would get tonight; it had been over an hour since Gibbs had ordered that pizza.

It was her turn to be the observer; they were switching off every half hour or so. From where she sat she could see both Tony and the person being interviewed. Her Mossad training gave her a keen sense of when someone had something to hide. With an almost imperceptible signal to her partner, she could alert him to probe deeper if she felt it was required. They worked well together, and by now they had it down almost to a science.

Tony didn't even look up, motioning silently to the chair across the table from him as he scanned the cryptologist's personnel file. "Petty Officer First Class, Louisa Angelina Penachetti," he read aloud slowly, recognizing instantly who she was. His stomach growled, and he took a deep breath, leaning back in the chair and glancing up at her. She looked like a deer in the headlights - terrified. Not a good sign. He continued reading. "Born November 14, 1980. Single, no children. Enlisted in the Navy in 2000, transferred to NSA April 2, 2002. Cryptology specialist in Middle Eastern codes. Fluent in Italian, French, Arabic, Turkish, Armenian...and Hebrew." He looked up. Even though she was Pete's sister (or perhaps _because_ she was Pete's sister), he knew he couldn't go easy on her. She fit the profile they were looking for perfectly.

"Am I a suspect, Agent...?"

"DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo. This is my partner, Special Agent Ziva David." He paused to take in the shock on her face. She must have recognized his name.

She mumbled, "I _de_crypt codes, I don't _en_crypt them, Agent DiNozzo. I don't even have the right equipment for that. And I don't have any access to communications equipment," she lied, "so even if I _had_ created a cypher, I couldn't have transmitted it anywhere."

"You speak Hebrew."

"Yeah? What about it? So does everyone in my division. It's a requirement of the job." Her voice was rising in pitch. Ziva noticed her glancing around nervously, avoiding eye contact, and noted that she was fidgeting with the bottom button of her khaki shirt. She raised an eyebrow at Tony, and he reciprocated. It was their signal. _Keep pushing._

"Where were you between 16:30 and 17:00 hours this evening, Petty Officer?"

She stared at him blankly. "At my workstation." A pause. "You can check the security cameras if you don't believe me."

"Oh, we will," he assured her. He ran through a battery of questions, and she answered them all with a curt precision. Then..."Have you noticed anyone in your section behaving suspiciously?" At this, she hesitated, as her thoughts drifted to the latest disgusting note she'd found in her coffee mug this evening. "Nothing that's relevant to your investigation."

"Why don't you let me decide what's relevant to my investigation?"

"OUR investigation," Ziva corrected him. He looked up at her under his eyebrows and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

"Am I a suspect?" Louisa repeated, deflecting Tony's line of questioning. She really didn't want to bring up Halden. It would make her look guilty, as if she was trying to divert attention away from herself and onto him.

Tony smiled coolly. "Everyone's a suspect until I say they're not."

Louisa had been slouching, almost cowering, but at this remark she sat bolt upright in her chair and placed both hands on the table in front of her. "You're thoroughly enjoying this, aren't you, Agent DiNozzo? You know what I think? I think you're just on some giant power trip."

Ziva smirked, knowing full well that Louisa had seen right through her partner's performance. Tony glared at them both, annoyed to be taking a hit so close to the bone.

"You're not helping yourself, Petty Officer."

"I don't think you realize who you're dealing with, Agent DiNozzo," she countered. "I have served the Navy with complete loyalty for ten years. I would never betray my country. My father is Admiral Hank Penachetti, the head of the Naval Network Warfare Command." At this, Ziva raised _both_ eyebrows.

Tony's cell phone rang, interrupting the flow of the interrogation. He glanced at the call display. It was Gibbs. Dammit, why didn't his superior follow his own rules? He answered it curtly. "Yeah, Boss."

"You making any headway, DiNozzo? NETWARCOM is picking up a lot of chatter, they think the Israeli Defense Force is getting ready to make a move against the Flotilla."

"We've got some possibles, Boss. Nothing concrete yet."

"How many left to interview?"

"About a dozen.

"Well, get 'er done! We're running out of time!" Gibbs snapped his flip-phone shut in Tony's ear, not giving him the chance to inquire as to the whereabouts of their pizza.

Tony turned back to Louisa and stared thoughtfully at her. Despite all of Ziva's signals, somehow his gut was telling him Pete's sister was no traitor. She seemed to sense his hesitation, and seized upon it.

"Am I free to go?"

His eyes narrowed. "For now. But make sure you're available in case we need to question you again." He leaned back in his chair and smirked at her reaction, which was a mixture of panic and fury. She muttered something in Hebrew at him as she stood, and Ziva almost choked as she tried to stifle a laugh, catching the flash in Louisa's eyes. Ziva smiled broadly - she had to admit, this woman had spunk. Louisa spun on her heels and marched out, slamming the door behind her.

Tony shot an annoyed glance across to his partner. "What did she say?"

"Trust me,Tony. You don't want to know."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Many thanks again to everyone who's been following this story. I apologize if it seems a bit slow so far - lots of groundwork to be laid before we get to the really meaty stuff, which is coming up starting in Chapter 5. Stay with me, folks!

**Spoilers: **Nothing major in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **All NCIS characters are owned by CBS, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Sunday, May 30, 2010 7:15 p.m.**_

The Tordella Supercomputer Building was like one giant candy story to Timothy McGee. It reminded him of his school trip to the Hershey chocolate factory in Grade 3 - everywhere he looked, there was something drawing his attention, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to follow in step with Commander Schumacher's quick pace as he tried to take it all in.

They ended up in what would normally be described as a "hive". In the centre, computer equipment extending from floor to ceiling. Surrounding this, dozens of technical specialists would usually be manning various stations around the perimeter; but with the lockdown in effect, the room was eerily quiet, with only a low hum coming from the bowels of the machinery. McGee slid into position at one of the surrounding workstations, hooking up his laptop and connecting the webcam feed to Abby's lab at NCIS Headquarters.

"Hi McGee! Are you in heaven?" Abby chirped.

"Pretty much, Abs. It's amazing! I thought the mainframe systems at MIT were impressive, but I've never even imagined a setup like - "

"Uh, Agent McGee, we should be tracing that signal. Time is of the essence," Schumacher interrupted gently. He well remembered his own fascination with the NSA computer warehouse when he'd first arrived some 15 years earlier, and today's installation was light-years ahead of what they'd had back then. But his neck was on the line, and he needed to keep these agents on-task.

"Of course. My apologies. May I introduce Abby Sciuto, our forensic specialist?" McGee pointed to the auxiliary screen. "Abby, this is Lieutenant Commander Schumacher. He's in charge of the communications computer systems here at NSA." McGee was typing furiously as he spoke, starting up his sniffer software that he hoped would be able to locate the source of the illicit communique. He input the IP address that Central Security Service had identified. "Abby, you picking this up?"

"Got it." The goth studied the plasma in the lab as the data flashed across the screen. She grabbed her Caf-Pow and sucked the straw deeply, for an extra dose of energy. They let the software run for about an hour, making small-talk all the while. Abby was multi-tasking as usual, simultaneously reviewing the video stream from the various security cameras in the SIGINT division that Gibbs had ordered transmitted to her. She shifted her attention back to the sniffer, and sighed in frustration. "Something's hinky, Tim. Every time it gets close, it diverts to another node. It's like someone's deliberately blocking us."

Schumacher had been studying the screen intently, fascinated by the program McGee was running (a custom job he'd come up with while he was stationed in Norfolk, which Abby had once declared 'absolutely brilliant', and which had come in handy more than a few times). "How exactly does this software monitor the trace?" he inquired. McGee explained the algorithm to the Commander, and as he processed the information, he began to shake his head. "You're not going to have any luck with this, I'm afraid. Our systems use a random number generator and fluid IP addressing - any one workstation will only maintain its current address for about 20 seconds before the next one is assigned."

"That's wicked!" Abby exclaimed, half-smiling, half-grimacing. "Do you know what that means?" She didn't stop to wait for his response, instead continuing excitedly. "That means, unless we can crack the algorithm used by the random number generator itself, and backtrack the timestamp to the millisecond the transmission was sent, there's no way to trace it." She yanked on her braids in frustration. "Gibbs is gonna be one unhappy boss-man," she pouted.

"No, wait Abs. I have an idea. I think the Cyber Crime Unit might have the equipment we'd need to figure this out." McGee turned to Schumacher. "We'll need to link them up directly with your systems."

McGee didn't need Schumacher's permission to proceed, nor was he seeking it, but nevertheless the Commander acquiesced. "Go ahead. I need to know who's responsible for this mess. We're dead in the water until we identify the mole; there's no way I can re-open the com lines under these circumstances."

Abby was already on the line with Cyber Crimes, and they quickly established the linkup. Realizing there was nothing more he could do for the next while, McGee decided to seek out some much-needed sustenance, and to check on Tony and Ziva's progress with the interrogations. If they could narrow down the list of possible suspects, they could cross-reference them against whatever trace Cyber Crimes was able to come up with. Schumacher escorted him back to the main building, where he came across a very flustered pizza delivery guy at the main security desk.

"It's for someone named Gibbs."

"Got anything more than that? We got 7 people here named Gibbs. We got Phillip, Julia, Nathan, Steve..." The burly security guard was clearly enjoying this.

"Jethro. Jethro Gibbs."

"Nope. Don't got a Jethro. Got an Andrea, a Mike, and a Stewart, though."

"I'll take it to him" McGee stepped forward, flashing his NCIS badge at the bemused security guard. Schumacher nodded approval, and the pizza guy let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God. Took me 45 minutes just to find this frickin' place. That'll be $37.50."

McGee's eyes widened in shock. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope. Includes a surcharge for delivery outside our normal area."

The junior agent was almost certain this guy was padding the bill, but he was starving, and didn't have any way of proving it one way or the other, so he forked over two twenties, muttering "Keep the change," grabbed the two large boxes, and high-tailed it upstairs to their makeshift command centre, led by the Commander. He couldn't resist sneaking a piece out of the top box as they rode up in the elevator. It was cold. Not even lukewarm. 40 bucks for a couple of slabs of cold dough with weird toppings.

* * *

_**9:07 p.m.**_

"You did not answer my question." Ziva's eyes narrowed as she regarded their latest interviewee from across the table with derision. Jake Halden smirked, leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes settle on the centre of her chest.

"You didn't ask nicely. Where I'm from, a lady doesn't talk to a man like that."

Tony, lying on the couch with his feet up on the arm, resisted the urge to get up and threaten to clock this jerk, Ziva having cast him a sideways glance that said, _I can handle this_. And well he knew she could.

"You are under orders to answer any questions we ask, _Petty Officer_." She let the title drip off her lips mockingly. "It would be in your best interest to do so. Or perhaps you would enjoy a formal reprimand from your superior officer for failure to cooperate with Law Enforcement?" He sat up in the chair and wrinkled his nose at her. "Now, shall we begin again? Where were you between 16:30 and 17:00 hours?"

"At my desk. I'm working on an NK cypher - kind of a specialty of mine, you can ask around. But I may have gone to the head at some point in there. Can't really recall. It's not the kind of think you keep track of, know what I mean?" He rambled casually, in his best matter-of-fact tone of voice. "By the way, can't help noticing, you have a gorgeous body," he crooned. "Under different circumstances, I'd love to - OOOFF!"

The tip of Ziva's steel-toed boot made perfect contact with Halden's crotch. "Thank you. We will be sure to verify your statement against the security footage. That will be all for now, Petty Officer." She smiled sweetly and nodded to Tony, who dutifully stood up and opened the door. Halden limped out sheepishly, deliberately avoiding eye-contact with DiNozzo.

Tony cocked his head towards Halden as he ducked past. "I coulda warned ya. But I kinda like the element of surprise," he clucked. The senior field agent grinned from ear to ear as he watched the disgruntled man skulk back to his station. Halden's co-workers were transfixed as he passed by, and Tony noted a particularly devilish smile on the face of Petty Officer Penachetti.

With the room vacated and the door shut once more, Ziva and Tony compared notes. "Chauvinistic pig. But not our mole," Ziva summarized, as she typed her notes in the laptop.

"And on what exactly do you base that conclusion?"

"Too busy trying to make a goal."

A puzzled pause, then a glint of comprehension on Tony's face. "It's _score_, Ziva. Trying to _score_."

"Whatever." She shook her head in frustration. She didn't make nearly as many slip-ups like that these days, but, like Tony, she felt hungry and irritable, and it was all she could do to maintain her concentration on the task at hand. Worrying about using the correct idiom in the situation was the last thing on her mind. "If he had something to hide, he would have been much better behaved."

Tony felt too exhausted and headachy to argue, although something didn't sit right with him about Halden. He just couldn't pinpoint what it was. His stomach growled again. "Where the _hell _is that pizza?" The door swung open as if on cue, and in marched McGee, carrying the two boxes with their long-awaited dinner. Tony dived at the top box like a piranha, pulling out two pieces at once and stuffing the corner of the first one in his mouth, before grimacing ruefully. "Cold. What did I tell ya?"

"Yes, thank you, I _would _like a piece."

He swallowed and stopped dead in his tracks, not knowing what to do with Ziva's calm yet slighted reaction. "Sorry. Here." He shoved the bottom box towards her across the table, smiling sheepishly.

She just rolled her eyes and grabbed the box, inspecting the contents and wrinkling her nose with disdain. "What do you suppose the fat content of this is?" she inquired, inspecting her slice of pepperoni-mushroom-double-cheese from various angles.

"We could google it." McGee nodded towards the laptop.

"I think it was a rhetorical question, McGee." The undercurrent in Tony's voice seethed, _for the love of God, McGee, don't provoke her._ He still had about 10 more interviews to get through with the Israeli spitfire before this evening was out, and he needed to keep her in some semblance of a cooperative mood.

Gibbs marched in and picked the pizza slice right out of Ziva's hands, biting into it without a word. "Progress?"

She didn't even flinch, Tony noted admiringly. "We are not in agreement about our last subject," she commented.

Gibbs responded, "Abby's finished going through the surveillance footage. Didn't find anything. Nobody left that room within our time window, except to use the washroom..." Ziva gave Tony an _I told you so_ glance. "...which means whoever sent that message did it from their workstation."

"Either that, or they programmed it earlier, to be transmitted at a set time...," McGee chimed in, between bites. All eyes turned to Tim disapprovingly. The last thing they needed was an alternative theory at this point. He glanced furtively from Ziva, to Tony, to Gibbs, then back again. "...or not."

"CSS already ruled that out," Gibbs shot back. His cell mercifully rang to break the tension, and recognizing the number on the display, he stepped aside to take the call. "That was Admiral Penachetti. They've detected three IDF vessels on an intercept course with the Flotilla. They left Haifa about 10 minutes ago. We're running out of time, people."

Tony grabbed the pizza boxes and tossed them onto the coffee table beyond the sofa - but not before Gibbs had grabbed another slice of Grand Hawaiian. McGee and Gibbs quickly vacated the room, to where Schumacher had been waiting patiently and making small talk with the SIGINT technicians to try to relax them a bit. They were highly strung individuals at the best of times, and all this drama wasn't helping. Gibbs motioned for the next interviewee to enter. By the time he got to the door, Tony and Ziva were back in position, steely expressions on their faces, with renewed energy and determination to figure out this puzzle.

* * *

_**9:23 p.m.**_

As Schumacher led the way back to the Tordella Building, McGee briefed Gibbs concerning the status of the sniffer trace, explaining why he'd handed it over to the Cyber Crime Unit. Unfortunately this was not the type of work that could be done properly under intense time pressure, and they were refusing to be bullied into speeding things up, regardless of the invective being hurled at them by Gibbs. It could potentially take several days to complete the trace. At this news, Gibbs slammed his coffee down on a nearby workstation, and glanced at his watch once more. He couldn't just sit here doing nothing! He flipped open his phone and called the Admiral back.

"Admiral, this is Gibbs. Can you give me an update on the Tenth Fleet's progress in decrypting that message?"

"As a matter of fact, I can, Agent Gibbs. Just got the report a moment ago." There was a pause as Penachetti slid on his reading glasses. "Beware ships leaving Cyprus 15:00 EST. Mavi Marmara is Trojan Horse. Activists support Hamas. Armed and dangerous. Destination Gaza. End Transmission." It was just as they'd feared. Someone wanted the Israeli government to believe that this was not just a peaceful aid mission. But the fact was, no-one, not even SECNAV, knew the truth about the protesters' intentions, or whether or not they really were carrying weapons on board. So, where was the messenger getting this information? And was it accurate, or just a red herring meant to stir the IDF into hasty action that would cause untold embarrassment? Penachetti continued, "The Secretary of Defence has been on the horn with the Israeli Ambassador for over half an hour, trying to get assurances they won't engage them until we figure this out. But we're not holding out much hope of success at this point. Those naval ships they sent out to intercept the Flotilla were staffed with heavily armed IDF commandos. They've got helicopters on board. Not much doubt they're readying themselves for a fight...is your team making any headway?"

Gibbs winced at the query. "We've narrowed the list of suspects, but whoever did this had incredibly sophisticated computer skills. We've got our Cyber Crimes Unit working on it right now. The mole can only hide for so long - we'll find the leak, Admiral." He slammed his cell phone shut before Penachetti could broach the logical next question: _but will you find it in time to stop an international incident?_

* * *

_**Monday, May 31, 2010 **__**12:47 a.m.**_

Tony yawned as the last of the SIGINT personnel to be questioned shuffled out of the staff lounge. His head slumped down onto the table and he let out an exhausted moan. He'd now been awake for just over 24 hours, and his internal clock was all screwed up. His 39-year-old body couldn't handle these all-nighters anymore, and he doubted he was of much use to the investigation in this state. Ziva methodically shut down the laptop and began packing up the equipment, working around the now dozing senior field agent. Being ten years younger had its advantages; she barely felt the effects of sleep deprivation. A tiny piece of her felt sorry for Tony - but just a tiny piece. She head-slapped him, slightly more gently than Gibbs would have, out of pity, but it was enough. He jumped to attention. "I'm awake, Boss!" He glanced around furtively, and seeing only Ziva, a cheeky grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye, he frowned disapprovingly.

"Help me clean up in here."

"Oh, so I get kitchen duty, is that it?" he moaned, glancing around at the array of empty water bottles, napkins and pizza crumbs strewn about the lounge. "Did you send our short-list to Cyber Crimes?"

Ziva nodded. "They will cross-reference the data once they have narrowed down the source of the signal. Apparently they cannot do it the other way around. Something to do with random numbers..." she trailed off, having ventured into unfamiliar territory. "I speak nine languages, but unfortunately Geek is not one of them."

Tony snorted. His partner's jokes were improving, he thought to himself admiringly. "We'll have to get McNerd to explain it to us." DiNozzo dragged himself around the room, gathering up the varied detritus from their five-hour interrogation odyssey and jamming it all into a smallish garbage can at the end of the counter in the kitchenette. "You want any more of this?" he inquired, pointing derisively at the leavings of the Grand Hawaiian pizza.

"Those bottles can be recycled," she observed, deliberately ignoring his question.

He shrugged, tossing the leftover pizza slices into the garbage and abandoning the boxes on the counter. Gibbs stuck his head in the doorway just then. "IDF has made contact with the Flotilla. They're threatening to engage them if they enter the blockaded area."

Ziva's expression paled. "Can our government not contact the Flotilla directly and urge them to hold back?"

"Don't you think we've tried that, Zivers? They've refused to alter course or to stand down. They're obviously hoping for a confrontation." He sank down onto the arm of the sofa and rubbed his eyes. "I think we're done here. Nothing much more we can do until Cyber Crimes does their thing." He glanced up at his two exhausted agents. Tony was propped up against the wall, with his head back, fighting the sleep that wanted desperately to overcome him. "That was good work tonight, both of you," Gibbs smiled affectionately. The compliment made Tony straighten up and take notice. "C'mon, let's get out of here so you guys can get some shut-eye."

* * *

_**2:23 a.m.**_

DiNozzo collapsed into bed, after listening to an incredibly agitated, 5-minute rant left on his answering machine from his best friend. Pete was _mad_. He didn't remember ever hearing quite such an infuriated tone in his voice in all the years they'd known each other. Louisa must have called him to fill him in on the details of her interview. He resolved to deal with Pete later, when he'd cooled off a bit, secretly glad he hadn't been home in time to take the call.

He tossed and turned. Despite being dog-tired, he just couldn't get to sleep, for worrying. Not about Pete, but about his sister. Had he been too hard on her? Had he really let himself get carried away with the control thing? Had he panicked her unnecessarily? He ran through the interview in his mind.

She'd come out swinging, on the defensive right away. She'd invoked her father's name, as if she needed that leverage to help her. And, worst of all, she'd lied. They knew, from their study of her profile, that she had both the skill set and the authorization to send outgoing encoded transmissions. Why would she deny this, unless she was hiding something?

The true misery of his predicament hit him then - what would he do if she did turn out to be the mole? Would his friendship with Pete be able to withstand the strain? Would that be the end of Thursday evening pick-up basketball games and Stanley Cup playoff parties in front of the big-screen TV in the Penachetti basement? Would Pete blame him for exposing her?

It certainly didn't look good for Louisa, but then there was that gut instinct again - he just didn't sense any malice in her. And what about motive? What possible reason could she have to send a message that would instigate a potentially lethal confrontation in international waters?

Tony's head was pounding, and by 3:00 a.m. he realized he would not find any answers this way. He rolled over onto his stomach, hugged his pillow and fell into a fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Ok folks, this chapter just couldn't wait to be written! Many thanks again for the lovely reviews. Keep 'em coming - I thrive on encouragement :) This one ends with a big cliffie...yes, I know I'm evil...sorry...

**Rating:** T for a teeny bit of bad language in this chapter.

**Spoilers: **Season 7, especially 'Rule 51'

**Disclaimer:** Louisa and the other OC's are mine; the rest of 'em belong to CBS...alas!

* * *

_**Monday, May 31, 2010 8:33 a.m.**_

All hell had broken loose in the international waters north of the Gaza strip while Tony slept, and when he flipped on the TV at 6:15 a.m. this morning, CNN was engaging in its usual obsessive-compulsive 'Breaking News' routine concerning the early-morning Israeli strike against the Mavi Marmara. He groaned inwardly, knowing this turn of events, although predictable, was going to put their investigation under an even larger microscope.

Sure enough, Gibbs was chomping at the bit, which Tony realized as soon as he stepped off the elevator into the squad room - 3 minutes late. Luckily, he'd thought to swing by Starbuck's on the way in, to pick up a Venti Arabian Dark, which he proffered to his impatient superior as the latter breezed past Tony's desk.

"Nice of you to join us, DiNozzo," Gibbs grunted, grabbing the coffee without so much as a thank you. "Vance wants to see us in MTAC." The rest of the team was already on their way up the stairs. Tony dropped his backpack on his desk and quickly joined them, bracing himself for a rather unpleasant debriefing, with Gibbs on his six.

It went pretty much as Tony would have predicted. Cyber Crimes was still working on the trace, nothing yet to report; Penachetti and SECNAV were trying to contain the fallout. The SIGINT division at NSA remained on lockdown, so the threat of additional inflammatory messages being sent was averted for the moment. The focus would now shift to finding and exposing the mole so SIGINT could resume normal operations as quickly as possible. _Quietly_ exposing the mole. They couldn't risk the public finding out this whole mess had been triggered by an American tip-off; that would spell diplomatic disaster. The team was instructed to review all the interview footage again, and lean further on those candidates whose stories didn't quite hold up, just in case Cyber Crimes was unsuccessful in their efforts. Tony swallowed hard, realizing that Louisa would be on that list.

* * *

_**11:27 a.m.**_

Six names. It all came down to this. Gibbs and McGee took Petty Officer 2nd Class Omar Kasim, PO 1st Class Jake Halden, and Lieutenant Deborah Rehnquist. Ziva and Tony drew CPO Sandra Felton, Seaman James Leung, and PO 1st Class Louisa Penachetti. _Oh great._ For one brief moment Tony considered asking for a switch, but then realized that it might go better for Louisa with him asking the questions rather than Gibbs. But he knew it was a bad idea. _Damn_. What would he do if she cracked under the pressure, and he had to arrest her? _Shit_.

The pairs went their respective ways, a customized list of questions for each suspect in hand, based on the holes that had been identified in their previous testimony. Tony made sure he grabbed the keys to the Dodge Charger before Ziva could even offer to drive; he needed to drag this out as long as possible. These people were on the evening shift, and he knew they'd be waking them up when they came banging on their door.

He usually enjoyed this phase of an investigation - catching the suspects off guard, hitting them with a barrage of questions designed to drain all the life out of them, then finally moving in to sink the stake through the heart. Blood sport with a badge. But he took no joy in knocking on Louisa Penachetti's door; their final destination of the morning.

"I will ask the questions this time," Ziva declared, as they climbed the steps to the apartment building and let themselves in behind an incoming tenant.

He shot her a fiery glance. "I'm the senior field agent, Probie."

"You must recuse yourself in this instance, Tony. It is not appropriate for you to be involved."

_How the hell did she know?_ "What are you talking about?" he feigned ignorance.

"Your friendship with the suspect's brother places you in a conflict of interest," she replied testily. He was trying her patience.

Ziva just wanted to get this over with so she could get back to monitoring the unfolding drama in the Mediterranean. She'd been glued to the TV since about 6:00 a.m., her heart in her throat as she realized how bad this looked for the Israeli government. Netanyahu was in Canada meeting with Prime Minister Stephen Harper at the time of the attack. But Ziva knew that the Israeli Defense Force would never engage in this manner without an order from the top. What had he been thinking? The official word from the Israeli government so far was that the raid was completely justified because the protesters on the Mavi Marmara had attacked the IDF as they attempted to board the ship. But there was no evidence, as yet, that any of those aid workers had been armed. In fact, at this point their sources were suggesting that it had been complete and utter overkill. Initial reports were that nine protesters had lost their lives, in a bloody battle that, from what she could see, was totally unnecessary. She really didn't care who had sent the message at this point; all she cared about was that her people would be tarnished with this ugly stain for years to come.

_Her people_. She stopped herself short. Where did _that _come from? They were no longer _her_ people; she was an _American_ now. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and noticed Tony staring blankly at her as they stood outside Louisa Penachetti's apartment door.

"How do you know I'm friends with Pete?" he queried suspiciously.

She hesitated a moment, then: "I have heard you talking to him on the phone, numerous times."

"I never mentioned his last name, Zee-vah. Try again." He suddenly felt very uneasy, exposed. "You've been reading my e-mails," he concluded. "So what else did you find out about me? Huh?"

"Tony. This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation," she hissed.

"Don't try to change the subject, Ziva. You've been snooping around my desk again, haven't you? What is it you find so fascinating about me?"

"Pot calling kettle black," she retorted, pleased with herself that she'd gotten the phrase correct this time around. She pushed past him and knocked firmly on Louisa's door. No response. She banged with the side of her fist this time, shouting, _"NCIS, open up!" _Still nothing.

She drew her gun, and was about to kick in the door when Tony put his hand out, and gave her a look that said, _what the hell do you think you're doing?_ He pulled out his cell phone, scanned the top page on his clipboard (which contained all the contact information on their six remaining 'persons of interest'), and dialled Louisa's number. "She's not ignoring you, Ziva. She's sleeping."

Ziva reluctantly restored her weapon to its holster, and waited. After an agonizing four rings, there was a muffled "Hello?".

"Hi. This is Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. I'm sorry to wake you up, but my partner and I need to talk to you for a few minutes. Can you come open the door for us?"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Not exactly the usual approach when one is about to question a suspect," she mocked.

"You get up on the wrong side of the bed or something?" Tony shot back, defensively. "Don't worry, I'll let you take the lead. Just... go easy, would you? I'm in enough hot water with Pete as it is."

They heard the deadbolt being unlatched, and slowly the door swung open to reveal a bleary-eyed and tousled Louisa, all bundled up in her purple chenille robe and fuzzy slippers. She looked like one of the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz. Or an Ewok from Star Wars. Tony couldn't decide which. "I suppose you're here to interrogate me again," she snarled, staring defiantly at Tony. _So much for cute and cuddly. _Her gaze was so intense, he had to avert his eyes.

Ziva interjected, "That is correct. May we come in?"

Louisa's jaw dropped in amazement, then she stepped back from the doorway, waving her arm towards the sunlit living room in mock welcome, and they marched right in. "You guys just don't have any boundaries, do you?" she growled. As if to prove her right, Tony wandered over to a desk by the living room window, casually examining a photo of the Penachetti Navy Trio - the Admiral in the centre, flanked on either side by his son and daughter, all three proudly decked out in dress whites. He guessed that it had been taken the day Louisa had received her First Class chevron. He riffled unobtrusively through the papers strewn across the desk. There were a number of small, yellow scraps with little notes scrawled on them, but they'd been folded in quarters and he couldn't quite read them without being too obvious, so he let it go and returned his attention to the two women. _Pot calling kettle black, indeed._

"When national security is at stake, boundaries are not relevant, Petty Officer," the Mossad-trained agent remarked simply. She stood across from Louisa by the coffee table, but neither one sat down. Louisa wasn't about to make this aggressive woman feel any more at home, and for her part, Ziva wanted to remain in a dominant, standing position. Louisa stood right in front of her, arms folded, jaw set. Tony half-expected some barrage of Hebrew insults to come spewing back and forth between them, but instead Ziva merely challenged, "You lied to us about your access to NSA communications equipment. Why?"

The question hit its intended mark. Louisa's face went pale. Her shoulders sagged, her head dropped, and she breathed a shaky sigh, collapsing onto the couch and biting her lower lip. Instinctively, Tony sat down beside her, but he didn't dare touch her, and he fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands. Was she about to cry? He couldn't tell. The dread he felt at this moment was like a wave of nausea and a wicked heartburn all rolled into one.

"Ok. I did send an unauthorized transmission...once... 6 months ago." Her eyes shifted nervously between Tony and Ziva, the latter having now sat down in the armchair opposite in order to maintain a good view of Louisa's mannerisms. "But it was totally innocent!" There was that eyebrow thing again. She realized she wasn't convincing the former Israeli, but she pressed on regardless. "My brother, Pete...he's a JAG officer...he was assigned to the U.S.S. Nimitz in the Persian Gulf during 'Operation Enduring Freedom'." Tony nodded - he remembered it well. For almost four months he'd had no contact with his buddy, other than the occasional e-mail. "It was Christmas!" she wailed. "Julia and the kids, they missed him so much. They just wanted to send him a video message." She let the words settle in the air for a moment before continuing. Her voice now dropped to almost a whisper. "I piggy-backed the signal on another communique that was going out at the same time...so it would be less likely to be detected."

They sat for a moment, absorbing her words, processing them in their minds. She began to quiver, the shock of her admission setting in. Without thinking, Tony took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

She continued, "I know it was a very foolhardy thing to do. Neither Pete nor my Dad ever asked me how I got the message to him. And I just kept quiet and hoped it would never come up. If Lieutenant Commander Schumacher ever found out what I did, I'd be facing, at the very least, a formal reprimand in my file, and quite possibly a court martial." She paused, studying Ziva's expression, which had softened, albeit almost imperceptibly. "You're going to have to tell him, aren't you?" she squeaked, as a single tear, belying the abject terror she now felt, rolled down her cheek.

They were interrupted by the ring of Tony's cell. Tony released Louisa's hand with a start, sliding the phone out of his pocket and glancing at the call display. "Gibbs." He flipped it open. "Yeah, Boss?" A pensive look. A furrowed brow. "Uh-huh." An upper lip curled slightly. "Ok, we'll be right there." The phone snapped shut, and Tony rose to his feet, suddenly all business. "Ziva, we gotta go. Thanks for your cooperation, Petty Officer."

"It's Louisa, Agent DiNozzo."

He smiled warmly at her. "It's Tony, Louisa." Ziva looked heavenward, silently wondering if there was any woman on the planet on whom Tony wouldn't try to unleash his charms.

Louisa grinned, and nodded shyly, escorting them to the door. Her expression abruptly turned serious as she opened it. "You'll let me know if I'm going to be in trouble, won't you?"

Tony affirmed, "Don't worry. I'll explain the circumstances. I'm sure the Commander will understand." He really had no way of knowing how the Navy would react to having their comm systems misused in such a manner, but he somehow felt compelled to reassure her anyway. He touched her upper arm, ever so lightly, and contemplated her features for a long moment before quickly turning and heading down the hallway. "PROBIE!" he called to his partner without so much as a backward glance.

Ziva fell into step next to him. Once they were out of earshot from Louisa's door, she quizzed him. "Where are we going?"

"Jake Halden's apartment. Gibbs and McGee found him dead on his living room floor...took a bullet to the chest."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I'm by no means an expert in forensic science. I've tried to keep it very basic, and whatever techie stuff is in here I got from Mr. Google, so he's the one to blame if it's inaccurate. Many thanks again to all my loyal readers, and especially to those of you who care enough to leave a review once in awhile. I love you all!

**Rating:** T for 'mature subject matter,' as they say.

**Spoilers:** Nothing significant in this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If they were mine, I'd be a wealthy woman. I am not. Ergo...

* * *

_**Sunday, May 31, 2010 2:46 p.m.**_

By the time Tony and Ziva arrived at Jake Halden's apartment in Glen Burnie, MD, (stopping by the Navy Yard along the way to pick up the MCRT van), Doctor Mallard and Jimmy Palmer were already on the scene and examining the body. Halden lay face-up in nothing but his boxers, eyes still open, in front of a tatty couch. A pool of blood had soaked into the tan carpet and extended nearly a foot on either side of him.

"No sign of forced entry," DiNozzo observed as he snapped on a pair of gloves, "meaning -"

"- he likely knew his attacker," Ziva interjected, studying the room for signs of struggle, but observing none.

"Yes, there are no obvious defensive wounds, which would seem to corroborate that theory," Ducky mused, studying Halden's wrists and semi-curled fingers. "Poor devil probably invited him in for a drink," he continued, noting the open bottle of Carmel Cabernet Sauvignon and the two wine glasses on the coffee table.

"Or her," Ziva added, noting a faint lipstick mark on one of the glasses.

"Time of death, Ducky?"

The ME studied his thermometer intently, doing the mental math. "No more than 7 hours ago, Jethro. He's still in the very early stages of rigor mortis. Help me turn him, Mr. Palmer." They rolled the body away from them, onto its side, examining the exit wound in Halden's lower back. "Through and through."

"No casings. Our killer policed his brass," Gibbs remarked. He barked out the assignments for his team. "McGee, snap and sketch. Ziva, bag and tag. DiNozzo, dust for prints. And -"

"Find that bullet. On it, boss."

They set to work, and Gibbs stepped outside to call Vance with an update.

* * *

_**3:12 p.m.**_

"Got it!" Tony exclaimed triumphantly, holding up the bullet he'd extracted from underneath the back sofa cushion. He examined it from various angles. "Looks like a .357 Sig. We're probably looking for a Glock. Ziva, keep your eyes peeled." She nodded, and continued carefully combing the room for the gun, collecting the wine bottle and glasses, as well as any other useful tidbits which might help tell the story of what had happened here.

About 5 minutes later: "Voila!" she exclaimed, holding up a chestnut-coloured curl of hair in her tweezers, retrieved from the carpet next to a leg of the sofa. She quickly bagged it, and proceeded to collect three more of these in various places about the room, including next to the telephone and in the front hallway. There was also, strangely, one solitary, short blonde strand.

McGee completed his sketching of the living room, and gave the ok for Jimmy and Ducky to move the body. They headed back to the Navy Yard in order to begin the autopsy. Gibbs would be demanding answers quickly on this one. Was there ever a time when Gibbs _didn't_ demand quick answers? Jimmy wondered. Tim made his way into what was most likely a second bedroom, which had been converted into an office. "Uh, Tony? Ziva? You might want to come have a look at this." They exchanged curious glances, and went to see what McGee had found.

Tony's jaw dropped as he entered the doorway to the tiny bedroom. What he saw could best be described as a shrine. Every wall was plastered with photos. Photos of Louisa Penachetti.

Louisa at her workstation (obviously a photo taken surreptitiously with a cell phone). Louisa at the Marine Corps Birthday Ball, on the arm of her father. Louisa, _sans_ bathing suit, on some foreign beach. _Yowza!_ He abruptly caught himself at that reflexive reaction. Any other time, Tony would not have missed a beat in commenting on this particular photo, if only to get a rise out of Ziva. But this was Pete's sister, exposed and shamed. If it had not been a crime scene, he would have yanked the photo off the wall to protect her modesty. His face flushed, and he turned away, hoping his partner hadn't noticed his uncharacteristic embarrassment.

As McGee snapped furiously with the camera (the irony of this not being lost on him), Ziva and Tony worked the room. A block of yellow notepaper caught Tony's eye, and he wandered over to the corner desk to get a closer look. The sheets were square, about 4" x 4"; when folded, they would be 1" square. Exactly the size of the notes he'd spied on Louisa's desk. Noticing her partner's interest in the pad, Ziva held out an evidence bag, and he plopped it in. Abby might be able to get an imprint from the top sheet that would tell them what had been written on it.

When Tony had finished dusting the makeshift office for prints, McGee disassembled the Petty Officer's home computer, bagged the components and deposited them downstairs in the van. Once back in Abby's lab, he would scour the CPU for any clue as to what motive might have precipitated this crime. It seemed to him likely that there was some connection between the murder and the illicit transmission, and he was determined to prove it. It was secretly eating away at him that he'd been forced to turn the sniffer trace over to Cyber Crimes rather than solving the mystery himself.

DiNozzo, meanwhile, was fighting an internal battle against an alternative theory that was forming in the recesses of his mind.

There was no sign of the murder weapon, but Tony managed to lift plenty of fingerprints from various surfaces, including the coffee table, the telephone, and the window sill in the adjoining dining room, which faced the back of the apartment. He stuck his head out the window, (which had been open when Gibbs and McGee had arrived), and spied a fire escape ladder extending down all six floors of the building. He deduced this was most likely the point of egress. He climbed outside carefully and lifted several prints from the ladder for good measure.

Four hours after they'd arrived on the scene, they packed up their gear and headed back to NCIS Headquarters. Now, it was Abby's turn to work her special brand of magic.

* * *

_**8:32 p.m.**_

As the basement elevator doors opened, the strains of Gothtronica could be heard blasting all the way from Abby's lab. McGee had been down here ever since they'd returned from the crime scene, reassembling Jake Halden's computer and trying to eke something useful out of it. Tony and Ziva waltzed in nonchalantly, seeking an update.

McGee fiddled with the keyboard for several minutes, ignoring the new arrivals, then declared, "Hard drive's been wiped." There was absolutely no surprise, or concern, in his voice. He'd fully expected it to be just so.

"Wagers on how long it'll take McGeek to find something?" Tony pulled out a dollar bill and held out his hand.

Ziva slapped another $1 into his palm. "20 minutes."

"10 minutes." Abby upped the ante with a $5.

"30 seconds." Gibbs had crept up silently behind Tony in that annoying way of his, and as DiNozzo turned with a start, he threw another $5 onto the pile.

"30 seconds, Boss?"

"Got it!" exclaimed McGee, as a rush of images suddenly appeared on the plasma.

"How does he do that?" Ziva asked. The question was purely rhetorical, for she knew there was no answer. It was simply part of the Gibbs mystique.

"Thanks, everyone." Gibbs scooped the $12 and shoved it into his pocket, handing a fresh Caf-Pow to Abby and then breezing past her to examine the 21" screen connected to Halden's computer. Abby drew deeply on the big straw, and followed Gibbs to stand directly behind McGee's chair. She squinted and peered over his shoulder at the screen, and as she did so, Tim caught a whiff of her unique scent. He closed his eyes for just one second, savouring the memory of a once-sweet romance.

More photos. Of women. Hundreds of them. They ranged from the suggestive to the lewd, but that was pretty much it. No incriminating evidence of communications with Israeli officials. No suspicious e-mails. Nothing to suggest he would be likely to be disloyal to his country or even risk a Naval disciplinary hearing. None of these photos involved minors, so he hadn't even broken Maryland pornography laws. Tony turned his eyes heavenward and thanked whatever god might be up there that none of these were of Louisa. McGee also noted that Halden appeared to have enjoyed online gambling, based on the web browser history he'd been able to recover.

He was disappointed not to have found a link to their initial investigation - it had been a good theory, and it would have wrapped things up very nicely. It would also have scored McGee some major brownie points with Gibbs.

Their attention now turned to Abby, who had moved over to the plasma screen and was running the fingerprints that Tony had lifted. "I was able to isolate two distinct sets of prints. One of them was Halden's, obviously. I'm running the other set through the Navy's personnel database right now."

"Why not AFIS, Abs?"

"Ah, patience, Gibbs, _patience_! All will be revealed," she teased, spreading out her hands in a 'wait a moment' gesture. "I ran the hairs Ziva found through the DNA sequencer. I didn't find any match in the system for the blonde hair, but the brown ones belong to..." she typed a few keystrokes into the computer, and a Navy personnel file flashed up onto the plasma. Tony audibly sucked in air. "Petty Officer First Class, Louisa Penachetti," she concluded triumphantly.

"One of our six finalists," Gibbs observed. "What about ballistics?"

"The bullet Tony found was a .357 sig. You're looking for a Glock; either a G33, 32 or 31, all three models can take that caliber."

Just then, Abby's other computer beeped an alert, announcing a fingerprint match.

"Bingo! Petty Officer Penachetti definitely opened that window and climbed down the fire escape. I also found her prints on one of the wine glasses. And, on Halden's computer keyboard."

"She's the one who wiped the hard drive..." McGee reasoned. He began typing furiously on another computer in the lab, his mind racing as he fit the pieces together. After a few moments: "Look at this." Several computer windows opened up simultaneously on the large plasma screen. "She's a card-carrying NRA member. Holds a Concealed Weapon Permit. And she's the registered owner of a G32 .357 Magnum."

"Tony. Ziva. Bring her in for questioning. And get a warrant - for her apartment, her workstation and her locker at NSA. Find that gun." Gibbs paused, as Tony stood frozen in place, staring agape at the plasma screen. "_Today_, DiNozzo!"

He shot a pathetic look at his superior, before muttering, "Leaving now, Boss." Ziva threw him an almost sympathetic glance, tugging gently on his arm and leading him out to the elevator.

"That's good work, Abs. You too, McGee." Abby and Tim smiled broadly at one another and did a celebratory fist-bump. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs breezed out of the lab. Next stop: autopsy.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Again, I'm no forensics expert, so any errors of fact are mine alone. I know lots of you are following this story (even if the Traffic monitor says otherwise), and I am humbled and grateful.  
**

**Rating: T for strong language and mature themes**

**Spoilers: None.**

**Disclaimer: I'm still not rich...draw your own conclusions...**

* * *

_**Sunday, May 31, 2010**_ _**9:06 p.m.**_

As Gibbs stepped into the elevator to head down to the sub-basement autopsy bay, he mentally reviewed the facts to date, trying to decide whether this murder could be related to the encrypted message that by now had caused a full-blown political disaster for Benjamin Netanyahu. (Interestingly, the Israelis were digging in their heels and defending their actions, in spite of emerging video footage that suggested a heavy-handed and unprovoked attack. They had made no official mention of receiving a tip about the protesters, which suggested to Gibbs that they now realized the message had contained misinformation. Publicly, however, they were still insisting that their commandos were attacked by the pro-Hamas activists, with knives, clubs, and pistols taken from their own soldiers).

If Louisa was the mole, perhaps Halden had figured this out, and threatened to expose her, leading her to eliminate him. It was a half-decent theory, and would also explain her lie about not having access to communications equipment. The daughter of Rear Admiral Hank Penachetti, head of NETWARCOM, would seem to be almost beyond suspicion, simply by virtue of her family name and connections. Except in Gibbs' world (and Tony's, he smiled to himself. The kid had learned well.) They'd both seen too many good people turned bad over the years to give _anyone _the benefit of the doubt. All the evidence was pointing this way, and Gibbs would follow the evidence to its logical conclusion, whether the result was palatable or not.

The shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts, echoing around the steel frame of the elevator. "Gibbs," he answered.

"This is Vance. I need you in MTAC. We have an update."

"I'm just on my way to autopsy. I'll be there in 10."

"_Now_, Gibbs. This can't wait." Gibbs sighed as he snapped his phone shut. As the elevator doors opened at the sub-basement, just outside autopsy, he caught a glimpse of Ducky, blue-green surgical cap askew on his head, beckoning him to come in. He shook his head with a grimace, held up ten fingers, pointed upwards, and slammed the button to head back upstairs. _This had better be good,_ he muttered under his breath.

* * *

_**9:17**_ _**p.m.**_

Arriving in MTAC a few minutes later, Gibbs glanced at the plasma, which displayed nothing but the striped test pattern. He frowned at Vance, who understood his confusion, and responded, "I think you'll want to sit down for this."

Gibbs joined the Director in the front row of the theatre-style seats. Vance's look of extreme concern made him think maybe this would be worth the detour after all. "So, what's the scoop, Leon?"

"Cyber Crimes completed their trace of the encrypted communique. They were able to source it to one of the workstations in the SIGINT division at NSA."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess...Petty Officer 1st Class, Louisa Penachetti."

There was a long pause. "How the hell did you know that? I just got this information myself not 10 minutes ago."

"It fits with the facts we've uncovered so far in the Halden murder investigation - Halden figured out what she was up to, so she took him out. I've got David and DiNozzo bringing her in for questioning about the murder. Her fingerprints and hair were found all over the crime scene, and she owns a Glock, could be our murder weapon. This new evidence gives us enough to lay a charge in the national security matter at least. And if Abby matches the ballistics to her gun, and doesn't find any other prints on it, we'll have her on the murder too - you agree?"

Vance concurred, but he wasn't happy. "Admiral Penachetti will be checking in at 22:00 hours. What am I supposed to tell him? _Greetings, Admiral. I have an update for you - your daughter is a National Security threat._ _Oh, and by the way, she also happens to be a cold-blooded killer._"

"Well, Leon, that's why you'll never have to worry about me gunning for your job." Gibbs smirked, beating a hasty retreat. With Ziva and Tony tied up at Fort Meade, he and McGee would have to execute the search of the Petty Officer's apartment. The trip to autopsy would have to wait.

* * *

Louisa furrowed her brow, staring intently at a sheet of printed gobbledygook. That was Halden's word for undeciphered code (so why was she using it, she wondered?) The computer network was still down, so they were reduced to working from hard copies of older ciphers - SIGINT's version of cold cases.

She was glad he wasn't here tonight. She hadn't even bothered to ask anyone where he was, because, frankly, she didn't care, as long as it was somewhere else. It had been a mercifully peaceful evening so far. But that was about to change.

* * *

_**9:40 p.m.**_

DiNozzo had been unsuccessful this time in securing the keys to the Dodge Charger, and they made record time to Fort Meade with Ziva at the wheel. He'd felt sick to his stomach before they'd even set out, and by the time they reached their destination, he was ready to throw up. Along the way, Gibbs had called to tell them about the results of the sniffer trace, and instructed them to take Louisa into custody on charges of unauthorized use of military equipment, and making a false official statement. Gibbs and McGee were heading to Louisa's apartment to execute the rest of the search. Tony's heart sank; he might as well kiss his friendship with Pete goodbye right now.

Warrant in hand, they marched through NSA security and up to the SIGINT division. He decided to let Ziva do the honours - he wasn't sure he'd be able to get the words out. Tony had never before felt the slightest qualm about arresting a suspect, especially one accused of such serious crimes. This was just plain _weird_. He hoped against hope that he was in he middle of some awful nightmare, and that he'd wake up any moment now to find he'd fallen asleep at his desk on Sunday night. But the nightmare refused to end.

"Those spooks are back again!" exclaimed Louisa's co-worker in the adjoining cubicle. Louisa spun around in her chair, just in time to see Ziva pulling out her handcuffs as the two LEOs approached. Her eyes widened in alarm, and Ziva motioned to her to stand. She pulled Louisa's arms behind her back firmly, and cuffed her.

"Louisa Penachetti, you are under arrest for transmitting false information to a foreign government, and using naval computer equipment for unauthorized purposes. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right..."

Louisa went weak in the knees; Tony instinctively grabbed her arm to steady her, whispering in her ear, "I'm sorry." His voice caught as he spoke. She stared uncomprehendingly up into his green eyes, tears welling up in her own brown pools, as fear gripped her. Having a JAG officer for a big brother, she'd learned a thing or two about legal procedures, and understood that it was important to exercise the Miranda rights being read to her - she stayed mute, fighting the urge to protest her innocence as she was led back to the elevator in humiliation before her colleagues. She resolved to phone her father at the first available opportunity.

Ziva left Tony to perform the necessary task of searching through Louisa's workstation, and her locker downstairs. He was a natural born snoop, and he had a piece of paper in his hand giving him official permission. His curiosity about Louisa was growing by the hour; perhaps here he would find insights into her personality, suggestions of how or why she could have betrayed the trust she'd been given. Something, _anything_, that would help him make sense of this horrible situation.

He snapped on a pair of gloves and set to work, ignoring the gawking stares of Louisa's fellow cryptologists. There was nothing of note in the top drawer of her desk, but a file in the bottom drawer caught his eye. It was labelled simply 'Jake'. The SFA opened it and found several dozen 4" x 4" slips of paper, identical to those he'd seen on her desk at home. They were utterly salacious notes, describing all the things Halden wanted to do to her and all the ways he wanted to do them. Why had she kept these? Was she building a case against him? He forced himself to read them all. The very last one was different_. _Brief, and to the point. _I know what you did_. Had Halden figured out that Louisa was the one who'd sent the encrypted message? Perhaps he'd threatened to blackmail her? Sex in exchange for silence? Tony swallowed hard. The further this thing went, the more guilty Louisa seemed. But at this particular moment, he was almost glad Halden was dead.

The locker did not yield anything helpful to the investigation, but it certainly gave Tony more of a feel for who Louisa Penachetti really was. It was impeccably tidy - civvies hung neatly on a hanger, a pair of sensible shoes perfectly aligned on the upper shelf. A family photo of Pete, Julia and the kids, and another of her Mom and Dad, in 3" x 5" magnetized metal frames inside the locker door. A mirror, also magnetized. A small cosmetic bag. The faint scent of vanilla and apricot. Fresh and clean. Simple. Understated. Tasteful.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the bank of lockers with a sigh, allowing the sweet scent to waft into his nostrils, and trying to fill in the blanks about this mysterious woman. There was something different about her... he would never have noticed her walking down the street or at a party, and yet, slowly and surely, she was being imprinted onto his consciousness.

She was a female version of Pete in many ways, it seemed. Pete had a logical mind; an ordered life. Yin to his Yang. Oh, he could be logical when it was required, he was good at that. But it wasn't his natural way. He was a jock. Impulsive. And yes, emotional. Highly intelligent, but sometimes irrational. In essence, Tony was a chameleon, never revealing his true colours. That was what made him so good undercover. He wasn't prone to introspection; he operated purely on instinct.

And therein lay his dilemma. Those instincts were telling him one thing, while every shred of physical evidence they had pointed the opposite way. He knew he needed to step back from this case; but he was reluctant to do so. He seemed to be the only one who was even the slightest bit inclined to consider Louisa's side of the story at this point. And she needed all the help she could get. Once he recused himself, he would lose access to the evidence...and to those who could help clear her name.

His cell phone rang, rousing him back to reality. It was Ziva, waiting impatiently in the car with their silent suspect in the back seat, hands now cuffed in front of her rather than behind her back. Ziva did not consider her a flight risk, and besides, the lithe and fit former Mossad operative could move faster than a diminutive 145-pound woman in handcuffs. "Tony, where are you? Are you almost done?"

He quickly put on his game face. "Yeah. I found something interesting in a file drawer. Just finishing off the locker - nothing here. I'll be there in five." He slammed the locker door shut in frustration, and headed back upstairs, the folder of disgusting notes secured in an evidence bag and tucked under his arm.

* * *

McGee had done a quick bit of hacking, and learned that Louisa kept her Glock in storage at the Fort Meade Rod & Gun Club. Access was controlled by biometric security measures - a fingerprint scan was required in order to withdraw the weapon from the storage locker. They obtained an addendum to the warrant, and stopped by the shooting range to seize the gun on their way to Louisa's apartment.

They combed through everything meticulously. They found, and collected, all the little yellow notes from her desk, but little else of any interest. Notably, there was no computer to be seen, nor was there any evidence that one was missing. McGee decided he'd never seen a home so clean and well-organized. And yet, somehow, it still felt comfortable and lived-in. There were little touches of Louisa's personality all over the place... a hand-made afghan was tossed over the back of the pale green sofa... a cello and a music stand filled a corner by the window, across from the desk... lots of greenery and flowering houseplants... various candid family photos perched on shelves and hung proudly in the hallway leading to the bedrooms. In the master bedroom, a sleigh bed made of solid cherry, adorned with a big fluffy duvet, looked very welcoming at this late hour. In the adjoining walk-in closet, everything was sorted, first by type, then by colour: slacks on a pull-out rack at waist height, blouses and jackets hanging above these, skirts and dresses on the end in a section that extended from ceiling to floor. Next to this, a series of narrow vertical shelves, each bearing a single pair of shoes.

The master bath was similarly well-appointed. There were little scented soaps in a seashell-shaped dish on the counter. Fluffy white towels and a lovely thick facecloth hung neatly on a rack, popping against the mint green and lavender walls. Simple, modern wall sconces on either side of the large framed mirror provided cheerful lighting. Large, Italian porcelain tiles surrounded the tub enclosure, accented minimalistically by a narrow mosaic listello at eye level.

There was absolutely nothing in this apartment that screamed 'murderer'. Nothing that suggested she was anything but a by-the-book, straight-as-an-arrow Navy NCO. Sometimes you could just tell by a person's surroundings what they were like, but not always. This one sure had everyone fooled, McGee thought to himself.

He was experiencing a full-blown allergy attack by the time they left; nose running, eyes itching and stinging, and a wicked headache brewing. He knew there must be a cat in here someplace - he'd spotted the litter box next to the utility closet - but Whiskers was making himself scarce. He made a mental note to take Tony to task for not warning him about the cat; the SFA knew very well how badly Tim reacted to felines, and he was sure the omission of this vital piece of information had been deliberate.

* * *

_**11:26 p.m.**_

Gibbs arrived in Abby's lab with a Caf-Pow in one hand, and an evidence bag containing the Glock pistol in the other. He wanted the ballistics testing done immediately, so that if warranted, he could lay the additional charge of murder.

He was not disappointed. With two-thirds of the Caf-Pow gone, she pronounced: "This is definitely your murder weapon, Gibbs. The striations match perfectly with the .357 Sig cartridge found at the crime scene."

"Prints?"

"Only one set - Petty Officer Penachetti's. Also, while you were gone, I analyzed the pad of yellow paper Tony picked up at Jake Halden's apartment. I was able to lift the impression in the top layer of the pad." She pulled it up on the plasma. _I'm going to tell them everything_. "What d'you think it means?"

"Not sure yet, Abs. But I have a feeling I'm going to find out in a few minutes. Give me a printout of that, would you?" She dutifully complied.

She yawned. "Can I go home now, Gibbs? I really, really need my beauty sleep." She cocked her head to one side, put her hands together in a prayer-like pose, and gave him her best 'pretty –please' look.

He smiled. "Go." She gave him a big bear hug, yanked off her white lab coat, and pranced towards the doorway. Realizing he was not following her, she turned.

"C'mon, Gibbs! You need your beauty sleep too. I'm shutting 'er down."

"I got it, Abs. Go home." She shook her head in resignation, and made her exit gracefully.

The former Marine stood silent in the middle of the lab for a long moment, mentally reviewing the body of evidence they'd amassed against Louisa Penachetti. He was starting to feel a titch uncomfortable. It was all just a little too convenient. Too obvious. Too incongruous with everything else they knew about her. This was a highly trained, highly intelligent cryptography analyst. Was it plausible that she could really have been so careless as to leave an electronic trail leading them back to her workstation?

And why would she not wear gloves at Halden's apartment if she'd gone there to kill him? For someone so meticulous in her personal habits, it simply didn't fit.

Unless… unless she _wanted_ to be caught.

He straightened his shoulders, turned on his heels and marched out to the elevator, determined to get the questioning of Louisa Penachetti underway. He would get her to reveal her secrets. He always did.

It did not occur to him to stop at his desk on the way to interrogation. Had he done so, he would have picked up an important piece of information, left by Ducky on his answering machine.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I had so much fun writing this chapter! I hope you enjoy reading it just as much!**

**Rating: T (language)**

**Spoilers: None**

**Disclaimer: Do I have to spell it out? Yeah, I guess I do. They're not mine.**

**

* * *

**

_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010 12:07 a.m.**_

Louisa Penachetti was allowed one phone call. There was no question who would be the recipient.

"Daddy?" she murmured, her voice quaking.

"Sweet Pea! How did you know I'd still be at the office?" The Admiral was trying his best to remain calm and blasé. But he'd just gotten off the line with NCIS Director Vance, and now knew the situation in which his precious daughter found herself.

She ignored his question. "Daddy, I'm in trouble. Can you call Pete for me?"

"Already did, honey. Don't you worry, he's on his way down there now. We'll get this all sorted out, and you'll be home by morning, you'll see."

It did not dawn on her that this response meant he must have heard about her predicament from someone else. "I don't know, Daddy...they say they traced that signal to my computer... somebody set me up... I don't know how I'm going to prove it wasn't me..."

She was becoming increasingly agitated, and her voice was now almost a squeak. He did his best to calm her. "Now honey, you just let Pete take care of all that. He'll know what to do. Just don't answer any questions until he gets there."

"I won't, Daddy," she sniffled. "... Daddy?"

"Yes, hon?"

"You won't tell Mom, will you?" It wasn't really a question, more like an affirmation.

"No, honey, I won't," he reassured her. "This'll all be over in a few hours, no need to worry your mother unnecessarily."

"Thank you, Daddy... I love you."

"I love you too, Sweet Pea."

No sooner had she gotten off the phone, than she began to berate herself for coming across so feeble and stupid. Where was that signature Penachetti stiff upper lip? She had sounded like...well, like a little _girl_. Not like the 10-year Navy veteran who'd been through rigorous military training. Not like the tomboy who'd grown up with an older brother who never ceased to put her through the worst childhood trials imaginable. She was embarrassed to have completely lost it in front of Agent David – who she knew had listened in on the conversation, and would no doubt relay the whole thing to Tony. Then it would get back to Pete, and the two of them would have a great laugh, at her expense. That was, assuming she really did get out of this mess.

Ziva led her charge into the interrogation room, and deposited her in a chair. She turned on her heels, shut the door behind her, and headed straight down to the parking garage without even saying goodnight to Tony. She needed to get home quickly so she could turn on CNN again and absorb the political fallout as it unfolded.

Meanwhile, Louisa Penachetti sat alone in Interrogation, stewing in silence.

* * *

The drive back had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Louisa had not said one word, and Tony and Ziva couldn't very well discuss the case in front of her. Ziva had tried to make small talk, but he was in no mood for it. So, they'd sat in painful silence for most of the trip, with Tony staring absentmindedly out the window (when he wasn't gripping the edge of the seat for support as they spun around a corner).

He had ducked into the men's room as soon as they'd returned to the Navy Yard; thankfully, he was alone. He unzipped in front of the second urinal and let go with a sigh of relief. It would be great if he could just hide out in here for the next few hours, but part of him needed to witness the interrogation. He felt like one of those annoying neighbours who always hung around crime scenes, just outside the yellow tape; the view was gruesome, but they couldn't help looking anyway. What approach would Gibbs take with her? Would he be gentle, coaxing the information out of her, or would he come at her full bore, trying to shake her up to the point where she would spill her guts just to get him to go away?

He finished up, and did a quick mirror check to ensure everything was in place. (Why the hell did it matter? It was after midnight, and it wasn't like he had a hot date waiting for him...force of habit, he supposed.) He ran his fingers through his hair, splashed a bit of water on his face to wake himself up, and headed back out to the hallway, just in time to see Captain Peter Penachetti marching around the corner towards the interrogation room.

Both men stopped dead in their tracks, sizing each other up. Their eyes locked, and Tony was alarmed to see sheer fury on Pete's countenance. He was a bit shorter than Tony, standing 5'10", with a roundish, clean-shaven face, the same chestnut-brown hair as his sister (although the brush-cut hid the curl), and a muscular build. Pete took his workout regimen seriously, and he had the ripped washboard chest and thick biceps to prove it. Tony always teased him that he looked a little bit like Popeye, only minus the pipe. In a physical altercation, sans weapons, Pete would probably win, hands down, Tony had to concede. But there would be no fisticuffs tonight – this was psychological warfare, and as his friend's eyes bored holes into his soul, Tony's defensive reflex kicked in, and he pulled himself up to his full height and raised his chin for emphasis.

"What the hell's going on, Tony?" Penachetti challenged.

He decided it would be wise to tow the official line for now, and let Pete think he believed in the charge they had laid... just in case the JAG officer's visit with Louisa yielded some additional information they could use. "You tell me, Pete."

"Don't give me that crap. You know as well as I do that my sister didn't send any unauthorized communication. I don't care what your 'evidence' says."

"Wouldn't be the first time... would it, Pete?" As Tony dropped this little bomb, the Captain's mouth opened and closed silently, considering what information the SFA might have. DiNozzo pressed a bit harder. "Yeah, that's right, she told us all about your little Christmas video."

"Oh, _come on!_ That was totally innocent!" And of course, Pete was probably right, but then again, it did prove that she was willing to break the rules for a cause she believed in.

"Yeah, well, not so sure Commander Schumacher's gonna see it that way."

Penachetti abruptly changed the subject. "Why the hell did you have to come down so hard on her, Tony? She was just about freaking when she called me last night."

DiNozzo looked away momentarily, embarrassed. He knew he'd been heavy-handed in the first interview. He had no defence. He continued to avert his eyes as he acknowledged, "I shouldn't have questioned her at all. As soon as I recognized her name, I should've handed it over to my partner. But I was tired, I was hungry, and in a bad mood, and I just wanted to get the whole thing over with and get home. And I guess I went over the line with the whole 'bad cop' routine. What can I say? I'm sorry, Pete."

This was not the reaction Peter Penachetti had expected, and his expression softened slightly as their eyes met once again. After a lengthy silence, during which each tried to analyze the other's thoughts, he decided to let it go. "Well, I'd better get in there and see how she's holding up... Look, Tony, I know I'm putting you in an awkward position, but... if there's _anything_ you can do to help her..." He trailed off, desperation apparent in his voice.

Tony swallowed hard – Pete didn't even know about the impending murder charge yet. This was only going to get worse. "You got it." As his friend headed off down the hall, DiNozzo called after him. "Pete?" The Captain turned and gave him a quizzical look. "Tell her... it wasn't personal."

The JAG officer nodded grimly, and disappeared into interrogation, leaving a forlorn Tony DiNozzo in the sterile hallway.

* * *

_**12:36 a.m.**_

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs strode purposefully into the interrogation room, a legal-sized manila file folder in hand. He sat down opposite the two Penachetti siblings, wearing his best poker face, and mentally sized them up.

Louisa sat up straight, ankles crossed underneath her chair, hands tightly folded in front of her, trying her best to look calm, but her eyes betrayed her, revealing her nervousness. She was unable to meet his gaze consistently for more than a split-second (Gibbs' penetrating blue-grey eyes often had that effect on the suspects he interviewed). For his part, her brother busied himself looking through the written report he'd obtained from the NCIS Cyber Crimes Division, although he couldn't understand a word of it. Technobabble was even more complicated than legalese, he thought ruefully.

"Petty Officer, I'm Special Agent Gibbs. Is this your legal counsel?"

Pete looked up immediately. "I'm Captain Peter Penachetti, Navy JAG. Yes, I'll be representing Petty Officer Penachetti." He was all business. The last thing he wanted was for Gibbs to get familiar and personal, for he knew that was Louisa's weakness.

Without a word, Gibbs opened the folder and pulled out an evidence bag containing a slip of yellow paper. He slid it across the table in front of Louisa. _I know what you did._

She glanced at it, a puzzled look on her face, then looked up at him. "Why are you showing me this?"

He pulled out one of the photos that McGee had taken of the murder scene at Halden's apartment, and silently slid it across to her in exactly the same manner. She gasped at the sight of Halden's almost-naked body, lying in a thick pool of blood.

"Oh my God! That's Jake!" And then it hit her. "You – you don't think – that I had anything to do with _this_?"

Gibbs was still wearing his trademark inscrutable, neutral expression. He pulled out the printout Abby had given him, revealing the message last written from the yellow pad, and presented it on the other side of the photo. _I'm going to tell them everything._

Pete was dumbfounded. "Agent Gibbs, I thought we were here to discuss the charges relating to the encrypted communiqué. What's the meaning of this?"

Gibbs ignored the lawyer, and squinted at Louisa. "Why don't you tell me, Petty Officer? Did Halden figure out that you were the mole? Was he blackmailing you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, torn between confusion and panic. "Didn't Agent DiNozzo explain to you about the message I sent?"

"Louisa! Keep quiet!" Pete admonished, fearful that she was giving her interrogator more information than was wise.

"No, Pete! They need to understand... these notes, they have nothing to do with that encrypted message. I already admitted to Agent DiNozzo ... I sent a little family video to Pete last Christmas, using our communications system. I knew it was against regulations, but... Do you have a family, Agent Gibbs?"

His expression softened, as memories of Shannon and Kelly flickered across his consciousness. "I did have."

"Well, then you'll understand. Pete had been at sea for weeks. The kids missed him something awful. I just wanted to let them give him one special gift at Christmastime... Jake found out about it, I don't really know how. He knew I was terrified of getting caught. And he played it for all it was worth... I hated him for it... But I would _never_ kill him!"

At this, Gibbs pulled out yet another piece of evidence – the ballistics report. "You own a Glock 32, .357 Magnum."

"Yes..." She glanced nervously at her brother, who grabbed the report out of Gibbs' hand before he even had the chance to explain why he was brandishing it. As the Captain studied it, Gibbs pressed on.

"We've identified your weapon as the one used to murder Petty Officer Halden." He paused a moment, for effect. "We found no fingerprints on the gun other than your own."

"That's not possible! I only use that gun for target practice. I keep it locked up at the gun club. You can check with them."

He shuffled his papers, and pulled out another document. "Why do you have a Concealed Weapon Permit, Petty Officer, if you never take the gun off-range?"

She gulped. "My father said it was a good idea to have the permit, just in case. I've never used it."

"In case of what?" It was a rhetorical question, and after letting the question hang in the air for one or two seconds, Gibbs went on. "You checked the gun out at 08:32 hours the morning of May 31st, and returned it at 10:16 hours. The biometric scanner confirms this."

"That's not possible! I was sleeping at that time!"

"Can anyone verify that?"

(Behind the glass in Observation, Tony rolled his eyes. _C'mon Gibbs, does she really strike you as the type who would have someone sleeping over?)_

"NO."

_Not unless you count Whiskers_. She appeared genuinely offended, almost disgusted, by the insinuation that she might have company in her bed.

"We also found your fingerprints on various surfaces in the apartment. And several hairs, which we were able to identify as yours using DNA sequencing. That evidence places you there, at the crime scene."

At this, Pete interjected. "It doesn't tell you _when_ she was there, Agent Gibbs. That doesn't prove anything. They were co-workers. It wouldn't be unusual for her to be at his apartment."

At this, the corners of Gibbs' mouth turned up slightly. "Do you usually leave by climbing down the fire escape?" He presented another crime scene photo, showing the open window and the prints on the sill.

Pete's heart sank. Everything was stacking up against his sister. He knew she was incapable of such a heinous crime, but he had no way to explain the mounting body of evidence being presented to them.

"Why don't I give you two a moment to re-think your story?" Gibbs gathered up the evidence, tucked it back into the folder, and calmly left the interrogation room, emerging a few seconds later in Observation. Tony shut off the speaker so the lawyer could speak in private with his client.

* * *

"Well, Boss, you've almost convinced me."

"Almost?" Bemused, Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. You made a great case in there." Both men turned and watched through the one-way glass as brother and sister commiserated. "But she didn't do it."

"I know." Gibbs was studying Louisa's body language carefully. He'd interviewed thousands of suspects in his time with NCIS, and he could tell the difference between the fear of being caught, and the fear of being framed. This was the latter.

DiNozzo gave a sideways glance at his superior, as relief flooded his consciousness. Gibbs had great instincts, just as Tony did. They were tempered by age and experience, but he relied heavily on them nonetheless. And it was reassuring to know that Gibbs' instincts were leading him to the same conclusion that Tony had reached almost 24 hours earlier.

"Then why'd you hit her so hard with the evidence?"

"Just wanted to see if anything would shake out. Something that might change my mind."

"So... what are you going to do?"

"We're already holding her on the national security charges. That'll buy us some time. As soon as Abby gets in tomorrow morning, have her go over all that crime-scene evidence again with a fine tooth comb. There must be something we're missing. And have Elf Lord look over the trace that Cyber Crimes ran – I'm not even convinced she sent that message."

Tony grinned from ear to ear. "Got it, Boss."

"And Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"After that, you're off this case."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well, Real Life played a part in the delay in posting this next instalment. But I'm enjoying a long weekend now, and the muse was very free with her blessings, so it's a long one, and here you go! There is a spot in here that might (at first blush) seem offensive to some Christian sensibilities, but please bear with me - I'm a Christian myself (not Catholic, I admit), but I need to keep Tony in character, and he reacts the way I envision he would. You'll see, there's a good reason for it.  
**

**Rating: T for language.**

**Spoilers: Major spoiler for Season 3's 'Frame-Up'**

**Disclaimer: Not mine...yadda yadda yadda...no copyright infringement intended...yadda yadda yadda...  
**

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010 1:17 a.m.**_

As Gibbs strode nonchalantly out of the interrogation room, Louisa felt her last ounce of courage slip away. She'd done her best to hold it together, under the barrage of intimidating questions and 'evidence' being shoved in her face. Now that he was out of sight, righteous indignation was replaced with terror, as the seeming hopelessness of her situation crystallized in her mind.

Where had all that 'evidence' come from? How could her fingerprints and hair possibly have been found in Jake Halden's apartment? She didn't even know where he lived! Even if she had, she certainly never would have darkened his door... How did the gun club have a record of her checking out her Glock? She hadn't been to the range for over a week... How could she prove that she'd been at home, sleeping, at the time they said the murder was committed? She'd got home after 02:00 hours (later than usual, thanks to the unusual events of that evening); no one had been around to see her come in, and she hadn't left the apartment again until it was time to go to work, around 15:00 hours. She didn't live in a posh building with security cameras that could document her movements, either.

It was all a bit surreal. Someone, obviously, had set her up. But why? She had no enemies - that she knew of.

"What am I gonna do, Pete?" she bleated, noting that the light had been extinguished to indicate they could speak freely without being heard in Observation.

Pete sat with his head in his hands. "Is there anything you're not telling me, Lou? 'Cos if there is, you'd better spill it now."

Dead silence.

"Lou?"

"I can't believe you even said that."

"I have to ask. You know that. I'm your lawyer right now, not your brother."

More silence.

"Come on, Lou. Help me out here. Why the heck did you use the fire escape?"

"_I didn't!_" she seethed, eyes blazing. "_I was never in Jake Halden's apartment. I never checked out my gun from the range. I didn't kill him... and I didn't send that encrypted message!_"

"Then how – "

"_I DON'T KNOW!_" She began to sob, and at this, Pete finally dropped the 'legal counsel' routine and threw his arms around his little sister to comfort her. She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. "I want to go home!" she cried.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Not tonight." Gibbs had silently returned, without either of them noticing.

Both Pete and Louisa fully expected him to start reciting the murder charge. Instead, he motioned to an officer who was now standing in the doorway. "Stewart, Escort Petty Officer Penachetti to a holding cell for the night." Then, glancing at the two siblings: "we'll talk again tomorrow."

"I'd like to have her released into my custody," Pete ventured. It was a futile request, and he knew it. But he had to make it nonetheless, if only to make his sister feel she wasn't being abandoned.

"No can do, Captain. She's still under arrest on the charges we laid earlier today." Gibbs locked eyes with Pete, and something in the gaze of the former Marine gave the JAG officer a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, they were not finished investigating this murder. Had Tony somehow managed to convince Gibbs to dig deeper?

Louisa bit her lower lip in an attempt to regain control, and tried, only half-successfully, to smile at her brother. He had done his best for her, and she needed him to know that she appreciated it. She held her head high as Officer Stewart gently led her out of the interrogation room. She called back to him, "Pete, will you stop by my apartment and feed Whiskers for me? Oh, and clean his box too - I didn't do it before I left for work." He nodded grimly, and she disappeared from view.

"Agent Gibbs?"

"Captain."

"My sister did not commit these crimes, no matter what this looks like. Don't end your investigation here – she's being framed, I'm sure of it. There has to be more forensic evidence that will prove her innocence."

"NCIS will make sure the guilty party is brought to justice. That's all I'm prepared to say." And with that cryptic statement, Gibbs left Captain Peter Penachetti alone in the interrogation room, and headed back to Abby's lab to file away the evidence until she could examine it again in the morning.

* * *

When Pete arrived at the elevator around the corner from Interrogation, Tony was waiting for him.

"You didn't tell me they were going to throw a murder into the mix," Pete seethed at him. "That didn't go down at all the way I'd hoped. My Dad'll be expecting me to report that the charges have been dropped... that it was all a big misunderstanding, and that she's safe and sound at home tonight... Julia's pissed, 'cos I had to abandon her in the middle of a dinner party... she had to make her own way home. And now I have to go feed Louisa's cat."

There was a long pause.

"You done?" Tony looked askance at his friend, not impressed by the rant.

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Well, _we're_ not done. Not yet. Tell Louisa to hang in there." It was the most he could say under the circumstances, but it was enough. Pete held out his hand in appreciation. Tony took it, and pulled his friend into a brief, yet supportive hug. When they let go a moment later, the SFA held out his hand. "Keys." Pete gave him a puzzled look. He clarified, "I'll go feed the cat – you go home and make peace with Julia." Relief washed over the Captain at Tony's offer. He eagerly dug into his pocket and retrieved Louisa's apartment key and the key to the exterior door of the complex, proffering them to his buddy gratefully.

"She asked me to clean the litter box too," he informed Tony, apologetically.

DiNozzo merely shrugged, grabbed the keys, and patted Pete on the back. He punched the 'Down' button on the elevator panel, and moments later the doors glided silently open. "Get going." Pete smiled – there was no way Tony could possibly know how much this simple gesture meant to him. Little did he know, Tony had his own reasons for wanting another look inside Louisa Penachetti's apartment.

* * *

_**2:15 a.m.**_

As he let himself into the lobby of the 12-unit complex in the community of South Gate, MD, Tony's heart was pounding. He didn't have a warrant; he wasn't here to conduct another search. And he knew it would be wrong to snoop. But he'd sure take a good look around while he was here. He hadn't noticed much about her home the last time out, because he'd been focussed on her reactions to Ziva's questioning.

He wondered what Louisa would think if she knew he was here instead of Pete. She'd probably be pissed. At both of them. He smiled at the image that thought invoked. He'd seen her pissed a few times already now, and all it did was make him want to laugh. She was cute when she was mad.

He strolled down the 4th floor hallway to the end unit that was Louisa's home. The key slid into the lock easily, and he entered nonchalantly, trying to look as if he belonged there. He shut the door quietly behind him, and surveyed the space. There was that scent again – vanilla and apricot. But there was something else, too. He closed his eyes, the better to concentrate, and found the aroma awakened a long-forgotten memory.

His grandmother's kitchen. He was perhaps 6 years old, and Nonna was making dinner for the DiNozzo clan; he couldn't remember the occasion, but both of his father's brothers were there, along with their respective families. It was wintertime, and he'd been outside in the snow with his cousins for hours, working up a healthy appetite. Upon opening the back door, his nostrils were greeted with the comforting aroma of Nonna's Carabaccia, a sweet onion soup that was both filling and delicious. The DiNozzo family originally hailed from Tuscany, and this was their equivalent to French Onion soup, served over warm toast with grated cheese that melted into all the crevices. He licked his lips and swallowed – his mouth was watering, so vivid was his recall of the wonderful flavours... even now, some 33 years later.

Louisa had made Carabaccia. It was unmistakeable. The hint of cinnamon, mixed in with the vinegar and almonds. The Gruyere cheese. The sweet Vidalia onions. Sure enough, when he strode into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door, he found the leftovers, sitting on the shelf in a tightly-closed and clearly marked container. In a trance, he pulled it out, and hunted around for a bowl and spoon, dispensing a generous helping and then returning the leftovers to the fridge. Surely she wouldn't notice any of it was missing...? He shoved it in the microwave (Nonna must be rolling in her grave) and drummed his fingers on the counter in eager anticipation.

Whiskers decided to make his appearance at the sound of the microwave oven door opening, assuming that since someone was in the kitchen, that must mean it was dinnertime. He looked up expectantly at Tony, who was now on a mission and didn't even notice him. Tony yanked the bowl out of the appliance and scoffed down several mouthfuls of the most delicious Carabaccia he'd ever tasted – even better than Nonna's. He leaned back against the counter in contented satisfaction and closed his eyes, imagining Louisa standing there, wooden spoon in hand, scolding him for stealing her food.

_Meow_.

DiNozzo felt the brush of fur against his slacks as Whiskers did figure-eights around his ankles to garner some attention. He crouched down and picked up the 16-pound orange tabby. To his surprise, Whiskers began to purr almost instantly, nestling in under Tony's chin. He scratched the feline behind the ears. "You hungry, buddy?" He set him back down gently on all-fours, and rummaged around to find the cat food.

The kitchen was to the left of the entranceway, situated behind a breakfast bar that extended from the wall. There was a bowl of granny smith apples on the counter in a woven basket, and a small file sorter holding grocery coupons and flyers hung on the wall just above it. There was nothing superfluous on the counters; just the essentials: coffee maker, toaster oven. Everything was spotless. The whole apartment was open-concept, and a tasteful muted green was the colour of choice adorning the walls throughout.

He opened and closed one cupboard and drawer after another, noting that everything was as well-organized here as it had been in her NSA locker. He moved to the pantry. Cans, bottles and jars stood like soldiers in neat rows on the shelves. It was mostly healthy fare, but she did seem to have a 'junk food' shelf harbouring various sinful treats such as Twinkies, microwave popcorn (extra butter flavour!), pretzels, and, of course, biscotti.

Glancing down, he found the cat's shelf (yes, Whiskers had his own shelf in the pantry, a fact which made Tony smirk). He took an inventory: some 20 cans of cat food in various flavours. Two different brands of dry kibble. Three flavours of cat treats. Flea collars. Nail clippers. A brush. Various little stuffed mice. A tin of fresh catnip that a friend of Louisa's had grown in her backyard.

He pulled out a can of 'Salmon Delight', chuckling as Whiskers went almost mad with excitement when he pulled open the lid. The cat made short work of the entire can (the instructions said to give only half the can for a meal, but the poor little guy still looked starving hungry after that, so he gave him the rest anyway).

This woman was so well-organized that Tony had no trouble figuring out what to do about the litter box. There was a plastic bag dispenser on the inside door of the pantry, and the scoop was propped up right next to the box. Whiskers stood by, watching intently as Tony raked and sifted the litter. Just as he moved away to drop the bag in the garbage, the feline climbed in right behind him, testing it out to make sure it passed muster.

"Aw, come on, don't mess it up right away. She's gonna think I didn't do it," Tony scolded him. Naturally, Whiskers took absolutely no notice, and continued with his business. Leaving him to it, DiNozzo wandered through the rest of the apartment, taking it all in. This was a woman who knew what she liked, and knew what she believed in. Classic. Elegant, but not stuffy. A woman who appreciated the simple things.

There was a basket on the floor next to the armchair in the living room, containing several balls of wool and a pair of knitting needles on which had been worked a partially completed garment. She appeared to be making a baby jacket. (Was Julia expecting again? Pete hadn't said anything, but then, that wouldn't be unusual. He was not one to talk much about his family unless prompted; after all, Tony had known virtually nothing about Louisa until now).

He scanned the bookshelves that ran behind the sofa. Louisa's taste was varied and interesting... D.H. Lawrence and James Joyce shared space with Shakespeare, George Orwell and Stephen King. There was also some sci-fi: Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, and Harlan Ellison – she'd get along well with McGee, he posited. Next to the bookcase was a stereo system. He riffled through the CDs. Lots of classical stuff – Mozart, Haydn, Chopin nocturnes, Beethoven symphonies, Ravel, Bartok. He came to another section, and his heart skipped a beat. Jazz. Tons of it. Coltrane. Miles. Charlie Haden. Chett Baker. Oscar Peterson. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong duets. And then some more modern stuff – Weather Report. Pat Metheney. Herbie Hancock.

_Wow_. This just kept getting better.

He wandered into the master bedroom, feeling just a slight bit voyeuristic – but rationalizing that he was here to do a complete 'security sweep' of the premises. His eyes lit upon a book on the bedside table. What was she reading? He picked it up. _Holy Bible_.

Holy Shit.

She hadn't struck him as the religious type. But now he began noticing things that hadn't caught his eye before... a crucifix on the wall near the bedroom doorway. The Prayer of St. Francis done in cross-stitch above the bed. A rosary was draped over the bedpost near her pillow. He picked it up and fingered it lightly. The beads were multi-faceted black onyx, strung together with silver chain links, and each decade was marked by a larger silver bead. A silver crucifix hung from the middle.

She might want to have this with her, he thought to himself, and he gently slipped it into his pocket.

Tony glanced at his watch, and was shocked to discover that it was nearly 2:45 a.m. He did one last pass around the apartment to make sure everything was in order, and quietly slipped out, locking the door behind him.

* * *

_**8:36 a.m. **_

Tony was in a great mood as he strutted into Abby's lab this morning. Even though he was operating on something less than 4 hours of sleep, he was feeling fresh and relaxed, now assured that he had Gibbs' support in trying to find a reason to release Louisa. He didn't bother questioning how his Boss had known about his connection with the Penachetti family; that was the least of his concerns at the moment. Right now, he was playing the Gibbs role, smiling glibly as he handed Abby her first Caf-Pow of the day.

"What d'ya want, DiNozzo?" she teased, grabbing the offering and drawing deeply on the straw.

"Good morning to you too," he fired back, a big grin pasted across his face. Then he turned serious. "Abs, you still have that evidence from the Halden murder down here?"

"Yup, right over there." She pointed to the evidence box sitting on the counter.

"Gibbs doesn't think Louisa did it." She furrowed her brow and pouted, letting him know that he'd wounded her.

"Don't take Gibbs' name in vain, Tony. What you mean is, _you_ don't think she did it. Gibbs would never question my forensic prowess."

He needed to extricate himself from this tricky situation, and quickly. "No-one's questioning your 'forensic prowess', Abby... remember back in '05 when I got charged with the murder of that Jane Doe? You did all the right tests, and all the evidence was pointing to me. But you believed in me, and you didn't give up. You dug even deeper, and you figured out how Sterling framed me."

Abby nodded, her blackened lips expanding into a comprehending smile. "You believe in Louisa."

"Yeah, I guess I do. We do," he corrected himself. But it was too late. She'd picked up on it.

"Is that because she's your best friend's sister, or is there something else I should know about?" From the look on his face, she could tell she'd hit a nerve. But she misinterpreted his reaction. Distracted by his puzzlement over how Abby, too, could know he was friends with Pete Penachetti, Tony did not see where this line of questioning was going. "You're sweet on her, aren't you?" she asked excitedly, hoping she had a scoop that she could share with the rest of the team. It would be nice, for once, to be the first to know.

"No," he answered flatly, taken aback by the question. "It's just a gut thing. If you'd met her, you'd get it. She's a little too... " He struggled to find an appropriate word, but ended up using a cliché. "...innocent."

Abby smiled an all-knowing smile, that let Tony know she didn't believe a word of his protestation. "Don't worry, Tony. If there's something here, I'll find it. Far be it from me to stand in the way of a budding romance." She didn't give him the chance to respond, spinning around and grabbing the box of evidence, emptying its contents on the table. He stood in stunned silence, mouth agape, searching for a way to convince her that she'd got it all wrong.

But had she?

Abby had only ever seen Louisa's official personnel photo – a headshot, and a more youthful and cherubic version of the Petty Officer's current self. She might not have noted that this woman was about 5 inches shorter than Tony's average date, and she would have no way of knowing that she was now perhaps 20 or so pounds heavier. So it was at least plausible that she could think he'd strike up a romance with her – he'd done that sort of thing several times before.

But Louisa wasn't the sort of woman Anthony DiNozzo dated. Ever. So why couldn't he get her out of his head?

It wasn't just the case.

It wasn't the suspected frame-up.

It wasn't the connection to Pete.

It was _her_. Something... something in her eyes. The look of her. The scent of her. The _essence_ of her.

So consumed was he with his thoughts, that he let Abby's 'budding romance' comment float away into the ether without responding to it. "Thanks, Abs. Let me know right away if you find anything." He ambled slowly out to the elevator, leaving Abby to her work.

_"YES!"_ The Goth screamed under her breath as soon as he was out of sight, thrusting both fists high in the air. For Abby Sciuto had a great big soft spot for Tony DiNozzo, and she wanted nothing more than for him to find that special 'someone' who would finally give him what he needed – an anchor. The fact that he hadn't continued the argument about his feelings for this woman was a good sign. A _very_ good sign.

* * *

Tony emerged from the elevator, and sauntered over to his desk in the bullpen. Ziva glanced up from her computer screen, and looked him up and down approvingly. He was at his dapper, dashing best today, she thought to herself. A charcoal grey suit, a crisp white shirt with a subtle pale green stripe to it, and a Windsor-knotted tie in a geometric pattern of darker grey and green that brought out his eyes.

He gave her a cursory "Good Morning," and immediately zeroed in on Tim. "McGee, did Gibbs talk to you yet?"

"He left me a message. I'm just heading down to Abby's lab now."

"Well, make it snappy. Admiral Penachetti's gonna be pretty pissed when he realizes we're still holding his daughter, and he'll be even more pissed if he finds out we missed evidence that could exonerate her."

"Yes, Gibbs." McGee gave Tony a pointed look as he vacated the bullpen, confident that he'd made his point. DiNozzo was increasingly assuming the Boss attitude of late, and it annoyed Tim tremendously. Tony's eyes narrowed to slits at this jab, but much to McGee's surprise, he didn't respond.

"Speaking of missed evidence..." Ducky strode in, and laid a hand on Gibbs' desk. ..."where is our illustrious leader this morning? I have a bone to pick with him."

"He had an appointment. He will be in shortly, Ducky." Ziva's cryptic response piqued Tony's curiosity.

"What kind of appointment? Gibbs doesn't have appointments."

"He didn't say. I didn't ask. One does not ask Gibbs questions like that." She glanced across at her partner. "Unless one is named Tony DiNozzo and one has a death wish."

"Good point," Tony conceded.

"Yes, well, he's not answering his cell, and we have a young lady languishing in a jail cell who I believe has been wrongfully incarcerated. I left him a message yesterday, and I've no idea whether he ever heard it."

"What was the message, Ducky? Anything we can do?" Tony was all ears upon hearing that the ME, too, had concluded Louisa was innocent.

"Come with me to autopsy. I'll show you."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Many thanks again to everyone who's still with me. I seem to have lost a few followers who thought this story was going to be Tiva. If that's you, I apologize if I somehow misled you. I love Tiva as much as the rest of you, but I love Louisa more (call me biased). *smile* As Schmaltzy points out so well, there's something very satisfying about Tony having a crush on a simple, everyday girl. And, as exciting as Tiva is, and as hot and steamy as it could be, I'm just not convinced it could be anything more than a fling. A very exciting fling, but nonetheless...**

**Rating: T for language  
**

**Spoilers: Again, Season 3's 'Frame-Up'**

**Disclaimer: Ok, I'll get serious. CBS owns the canon characters, I own the rest. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010 8:47 a.m.**_

Tony was all anticipation and spine-tingles as they descended in the elevator. Whatever Ducky had found, he hoped it was good enough to enable them to release Louisa post-haste. The ME was right; she was not jail-cell material, and he supposed the last few hours had been nothing short of fear-inducing for her. He fingered the rosary in his pocket, and resolved to head down to the holding cell as soon as they finished in autopsy.

McGee got off along the way at Basement Level 1 and proceeded to Abby's lab. He had his work cut out for him – proving that Cyber Crimes had got it wrong. He would have to review every piece of the final, 'successful' trace, looking for flaws in the logic, flaws in the algorithm, flaws in the methodology. He relished the thought of finding something they had missed; it was still driving him nuts that he'd been forced to hand the trace over to them in the first place.

When the rest of the team arrived in autopsy, Gibbs was already engaged in conversation with Jimmy Palmer, who was desperately trying to explain why he wanted to wait for Ducky before pulling out Halden's body from cold storage.

"Ducky? Wanna explain to your assistant that my requests take priority down here?"

The ME shot Gibbs a disapproving glance over the top of his glasses. "Well, Jethro, you didn't give _my_ request priority last night, now did you?"

Ziva and Tony exchanged grimaces. Tony made a slicing motion across his throat with his hand, to which Ziva nodded and glanced heavenward.

"What request, Ducky?" Gibbs asked in frustration.

"The voice mail I left you last night... Honestly, Jethro, don't you ever check your messages?"

"Haven't been at my desk since yesterday morning, Duck."

"And I suppose your cell phone is shut off too?"

Gibbs pulled the device out of his pocket, furrowed his brow, grimaced, and switched it on.

Never apologize.

Looking up again, he caught sight of Tony. "DiNozzo. What're you doing here?"

"Well, we didn't know you were back, Boss, and Ducky said he had important information that – "

"What did I tell you last night?"

"I know. I'm off the case. Fine. Just think of me as a casual observer." Gibbs considered this request for a long moment, then one corner of his mouth curled up, he closed his eyes and shook his head in resignation.

Jimmy pulled out the drawer containing Jake Halden's body, and they all gathered around for a good look. Ducky stepped up, pulled the sheet down to uncover the corpse, and began his exposition. "First, you will note that, when comparing the location of the entry wound, just below the sternum, with the exit wound in the lower back, the angle of entry suggests the shooter was taller than our victim."

"Either that, or Halden was on his knees when he was shot," Gibbs noted.

"Yes... that would be another possible explanation. However, I didn't find any evidence of carpet fibres on his knees, which one would expect to find if that were the case."

"Louisa's only five foot four," Tony chimed in. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and sent him a warning glare to shut up. DiNozzo swallowed in response to the silent chastening. "Sorry, Boss."

"But that's not the most interesting thing we found. Mr. Palmer, would you do the honours, please?"

"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy lifted Halden's left leg, revealing a circular tattoo, roughly 2.5 inches in diameter, on his inner thigh, near the groin. Ziva inhaled sharply when she caught sight of it.

"You recognize it, don't you, Ziva?" Ducky inquired, already certain of the answer he would receive.

"Yes."

Gibbs glanced at Ziva, then at Ducky. "Someone wanna tell me what I'm looking at?"

"This man was a Mossad agent," Ziva murmured, staring intently at the tattoo. In the centre was a menorah. This was surrounded by two semi-circular inscriptions in Hebrew, one above it and the other below. "This is the official symbol of the Mossad."

"You don't have a tat like that." The second the words escaped his mouth, Tony knew that he should not have uttered them, but the opening was just too good to pass up. Jimmy snorted, stifling a laugh. Ziva was so transfixed by the image in front of her, that she was oblivious to the comment. But not Gibbs. He leaned across the autopsy table and smacked the back of Tony's head, so hard it almost made him see stars.

"What does it say, Ziva?" Gibbs leaned in to take a closer look. Once again, he did not have his glasses with him, and he squinted at the inscription, as if he could actually understand the Hebrew.

"The top inscription reads _Kee betachbulot ta'ase lecha milchama – With clandestine terrorism we will conduct war._ The bottom one reads _Ha'Mossad Le'modiein_ _– The Institute for the Collection of Information."_

"Seems like a strange place for a tattoo," Jimmy observed.

"Not if one is under cover." Ziva was knitting together a theory in her head. "I will do a deeper background search on Jake Halden. This man may have been passing secrets to the Israeli government all along."

* * *

_**9:33 a.m.**_

Tony strode down the stark grey corridor of holding cells, most of which were empty. There, at the end of the line, was little Louisa, still in her khakis, but now with bare feet, having tossed her shoes aside. She lay on the cot with her ankles crossed, hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. As he approached, he noticed faint dark streaks down her face – tear stains, where her mascara had run. She wasn't crying now... she was stoic, and barely even acknowledged him as he came to stand in front of the cell door.

"Hey."

"You here to give me more good news?" she inquired sarcastically.

"Yeah. Your breakfast is coming," he smiled. It was true; he'd passed the guard with the trolley on the way down here.

"It's about time," she grumbled.

"Doesn't smell half-bad, actually. Although I'm sure it's nothing like your cooking."

She shot him a sideways glance. "What would you know about my cooking?"

"I know you make the best Carabaccia I've ever tasted."

She sat bolt upright, and focused her widened eyes on his. The follow-up question was unspoken, and unnecessary. Instead, an accusation. "You were in my apartment again."

Then, an admission. "Yup. I went to feed your cat."

"That was Pete's job," she replied tersely.

"Yeah, well, I made it my job. Pete had other priorities last night."

"And you went into my fridge and ate my leftovers?" she asked incredulously. "That's pretty ballsy."

His face flushed, but just slightly, and not enough that she'd notice it in this dim light. He grinned. "Well, never let it be said that Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo doesn't do a thorough job investigating a scene."

"I suppose you were in my bedroom, too."

"Damn, you're good. You sure you're not an NCIS agent?" Tony quipped.

"If I were, would I be sitting here, behind bars?" She'd had enough of this inane banter.

His voice softened. "Yeah, you might be; happened to me once." Now he truly had her attention; the expression on her face told him she wanted him to elaborate. "About five years ago - I guess it was just before I met Pete. I was framed for murder. I spent the night... right over there." He pointed to another cell, kitty-corner to the one she now occupied. "Lots of fun."

She got up from the cot and approached the bars, never letting go of his gaze. "How did you prove your innocence?"

"Forensics. _The truth will set you free_, as our resident expert Abby says."

"I think that was Jesus, actually."

He stood in stunned silence at this remark, unsure how to respond. Then, he remembered the rosary in his pocket. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I thought you might be wanting this." He retrieved it and held it out to her through the bars. Her hand shook slightly as she took the beads from his grasp, tears of gratitude welling up in her eyes. She swallowed, and attempted to drive them back. Instead, they spilled down her cheeks.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He reached out and gently wiped the tears away with the back of his fingers. "Everyone's working hard to prove you didn't do this," he reassured her. "We'll figure it out. We're getting closer already."

She smiled at him through bleary eyes. "And to think I was afraid you didn't believe me."

"Louisa...there's something I've been meaning to ask you." She looked up at him expectantly. "What did you say to Ziva the other day, as you were leaving the staff lounge?"

She took a step away from him. "Oh... I wish you would just let that go."

"Why? It can't be _that_ bad..."

"Oh, yes it can." She turned away from him, fingering the rosary, her head lowered in embarrassment. He let the silence linger in the air, and after a painfully long moment, she realized there was no way out. She turned back to face him. "All right, look... you have to understand... I was angry, and scared, and – "

"Louisa."

He was holding out his hand to her through the bars. She took it, and he pulled her towards him. She pursed her lips, averted her eyes, and blurted, "The rough translation is... _big dick, tiny brain_."

He burst out laughing, much to her relief, and she giggled shyly. "I prefer that to the other way around," he joked.

"_Tony!"_ she exclaimed, in mock disapproval. Then, her expression turned serious, and she gazed up into his eyes. "Big heart."

He smiled softly, and cupping his free hand behind her neck, he drew her towards him and gently kissed her forehead through the bars. He let his lips linger there for several seconds before pulling back and gazing down at her. "Five years... where've you been all this time?"

The tender moment was rudely interrupted as the breakfast cart arrived. Tony backed away to make room for the guard, but didn't immediately let go of her hand. "Well, I'd better go." He caressed her fingers, then pulled his hand away. "Hang in there. We'll have you out of here soon."

"Thank you for coming," she murmered.

Her eyes followed him as he strode purposefully back down the hall, and a guard let him through the secure doorway to the outside world. He didn't look back. If he had, he would have seen Louisa Penachetti smiling more brightly than at any time since this ordeal began two days ago. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and she felt flushed. This man was nothing like she'd imagined, and she felt ashamed of the assumptions she'd made about him in the beginning. She understood now why Pete counted him as such a good friend.

She sat down on the bench that ran along the wall beneath the tiny cell window, and fingered her rosary beads, completely ignoring the breakfast tray that had been deposited on the floor just inside the bars. She made the sign of the cross, and began her recitation, as a sense of peace and joy came over her.

* * *

_**10:35 a.m.**_

CNN was being broadcast on the TV screen behind Tony's desk, and Ziva kept glancing up from her workstation to observe the latest developments. The U.N. Security Council was demanding an international inquiry into the attack on the Mavi Marmara, but she knew that would never happen. As she expected, the latest debriefing in MTAC had confirmed that the U.S. had blocked the Security Council, and a compromise had been reached whereby Israel would carry out its own investigation, with international observers present.

The ripple effect was just beginning – Egypt had bowed to international pressure, and the Rafah border post with Gaza had been opened, at least for the purpose of importing humanitarian aid. It was only a matter of time before Netanyahu would be forced to ease restrictions at the port as well. As she dug deeper into Jake Halden's past, she wondered whether he was the one who had sent the message. If so, this could not have been the intended result.

She was on the phone, carrying on an animated conversation in Hebrew, when DiNozzo breezed back into the bullpen. She wore her headset, and typed furiously as she spoke. Tony swung around behind her chair to examine the screen. But he didn't cosy up to her like he usually did, instead keeping a respectful distance as he watched the images appear one after another.

"Toda." She hung up, and hit a keystroke combination that brought the images up onto the main plasma screen. "Gibbs! I have something." The supervisory agent was on his feet in seconds, and the three gathered in front of the plasma. Tony looked sheepishly at Gibbs, who chose not to make an issue of his continued presence. Ziva walked them through the evidence. "I checked with one of my old contacts in the Mossad. He confirmed that Jake Halden is really Jacob Halpern, a 'sleeper' agent. He was born in the U.S. but lived in Israel from the age of four. His father taught engineering at the Technion International School of Engineering, in Haifa, where Halpern himself also studied. He arrived back in the U.S. in 2007."

She hit the remote, and a photo of a much younger, bearded Israeli man in camouflage appeared on the screen. "Halpern served with the IDF for 6 years before joining the Mossad in September 2006. He was a personal friend of Gilad Shalit. He took Shalit's capture by Hamas personally, it seems, and wanted to seek revenge."

"If he was a sleeper, and initiated contact early, that would be a serious breach," Gibbs observed. Ziva nodded in agreement. "They would know it was him by the code he used. Would Mossad take any overt action against an agent who went rogue like that, Ziva?"

"Yes. He would be a liability at that point. Most likely they would eliminate him." All three looked at each other, as the pieces finally fell into place. Ziva and Tony raced towards the elevator, each eager to be the first to reach Abby's lab.

"Not you, DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, brushing past him. Tony froze instinctively, and Ziva jumped onto the elevator next to the Boss, sticking her tongue out as the doors slid shut.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: RL has been brutal for the last few days, so I apologize to all my readers for making you wait so long for this! I sincerely hope you'll find it was worth the wait. A very special thank-you is due here to Schmaltzy for the lovely rec on your LJ site, and to Scousemuz1k for your steady support as I plough ahead with this most ambitious story! And to all my lovely readers - whether or not you choose to leave a review, I hope you are enjoying it.**

**Disclaimer: Canon characters belong to DPB and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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* * *

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_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010 10:50 a.m.**_

"Damn!" Tony cursed, as the elevator doors glided shut in his face.

Gibbs was determined to keep him out of the loop, just when they were getting close to clearing Louisa. The logical part of Tony's brain understood this. There was no doubt he was biased, and would not examine the evidence as objectively as his teammates. He'd known it was coming. But that didn't make it any easier to accept that he wasn't allowed down there in Abby's lab.

With resignation, he headed back to his desk, wondering what he could do to distract himself until Gibbs deigned to let him in on what was going on. He wished he could call Pete, let him know how close they were to proving his sister innocent. But Gibbs would kick his butt to the other side of Sunday if he so much as dared pick up that phone. Gazing out the window at the view of the Anacostia River, his thoughts drifted back to the image of Louisa in that cold, stark jail cell. Little Louisa. Why had Pete never talked about her? He knew practically nothing about the younger Penachetti.

Absentmindedly, he called up the personnel file they'd used for her initial interview. It really didn't tell him very much. _What was she like as a kid? What kind of friends did she have? What schools did she attend? What kind of boys did she date in high school? What about her first kiss? Her first time...?_ He gave his head a shake – best not to think about THAT.

He started a more in-depth background search on his computer, hoping to find something, no matter how small, to add to his understanding of this woman who had captivated him for some inexplicable reason. There wasn't much, but he did find a few high school photos, with captions. Then-Captain Hank Penachetti had been Commanding Officer of the Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base New Orleans from 1994 to 1999. And there was Louisa, posing with the rest of the cross-country team at St. Mary's Dominican High School, an all-girls college-prep school. So, she was an athlete. Like him. He smiled as he took in the likeness of the young, fresh-faced kid, all spindly arms and legs.

There were also snapshots of her with the Foreign Language Club... the Color Guard... the Computer Club... and the Mu Alpha Theta Club. She'd been on the Mu Ciphering Team, placing 3rd in the 1995-1996 State Convention. She looked so cute in that little skirt and sweater combo! Strange... there didn't seem to be anything after December 1996... halfway through her Junior year... it was as if she'd moved to another school entirely. But she was listed among the graduates of 1998, so he knew that could not have been the case. Why had she seemingly abandoned all her extra-curricular activities at the age of 16?

* * *

_**10:55 a.m.**_

Abby was not at all surprised to see Gibbs and Ziva arrive in her lab. Gibbs had a way of appearing just at the moment when she had something major to tell him. And today was no exception.

"Gibbs! My baby has spoken, and I have _major_ news!" Abby greeted him excitedly. "I was just about to call Tony – "

"DiNozzo's off this case, Abs. Whatcha got?" he queried, handing her the Caf-Pow that he'd dashed out for on the way down. He took a sip of his Starbucks coffee, and glanced at Abby, eyebrows raised.

"Mhmmmm..." Abby nodded knowingly. "I guess it _would_ be a conflict of interest to be working on your girlfriend's murder investigation."

McGee, who had been sitting quietly in a corner puzzling over the trace results, suddenly glanced up with interest, eager to hear more. Ziva shot Abby a look that was half-assassin, half-wounded puppy. "Girlfriend? I think not."

Even as she denied it, the events of the past few days quickly replayed in Ziva's mind, and she wondered if Abby could be on to something. Tony had been acting strangely ever since their follow-up interview at the Petty Officer's apartment. She'd chalked it up to him being uncomfortable treating his best friend's sister as a suspect. But perhaps there was more to it than that? There had been plenty of innuendo in Tony and Ziva's relationship over the years, but nothing had ever been spoken. And then, of course, there was Rule # 12.

"Today, Abs?" Gibbs prodded impatiently.

"Ok, Gibbs, here's the deal. I found a strange residue on several of the items we lifted prints from – the wine glass and the bottle, and also on Halden's computer. So I decided to take some samples and run them through Major Mass Spec. And I found... this..." She keyed instructions into her computer, and the chemical composition of the substance appeared on the screen. "Rubber, protein, water, sterol glycosides, resins, ash and sugars... ammonia... calcium nitrate... hydrolyzed corn starch..."

Gibbs gave her a questioning glance.

"Latex, Gibbs. As in, latex gloves."

"Well, isn't that kind of obvious, Abs, since we wear gloves at the crime scene?"

"Ah, yes, but no-one on the team touched those particular surfaces – they had prints on them, so you wouldn't want to contaminate the evidence. Besides, these weren't the kind of gloves we use. See here" – she pointed to a couple of ingredients on the screen – "sodium hypochlorite and hydrochloric acid. We use powdered gloves, but these didn't have a powdered lubricant, they were chlorinated instead, giving them a slippery surface."

"I think I might know what this is," Ziva stated thoughtfully, staring at the screen. Abby and Gibbs both turned to her expectantly, and she continued. "Before I left the Mossad, around 2003, I remember being briefed about an experimental method of duplicating fingerprints using a small piece of latex attached to one's fingertip. The idea was to circumvent biometric security systems."

"Yeah, I remember reading about that!" Abby exclaimed. "These two German hackers presented it at the Chaos Computer Camp in East Berlin. With the right equipment, you can do it pretty much on the fly. You take a graphically enhanced digital image of the fingerprint, print it onto foil, and then transfer it onto a photosensitive printed circuit board. You expose the board and etch it to make a 3-D structure of the fingerprint, then you dip it in liquid latex, let it cool, and voila! Fake fingerprints. Very James Bond!"

"Abs, can you tell if anyone other than us accessed Petty Officer Penachetti's personnel file in the last few days?" Gibbs took a final gulp of his coffee and hunted around for a garbage can. McGee had by now abandoned his computer station and was standing directly behind his superior, taking in all the intrigue. He took the empty cup from Gibbs' hand, but didn't make a move toward the trash, instead watching intently as Abby navigated through the NSA computer systems. About five minutes later, she found what she was looking for.

"Someone hacked into her file at 18:10 hours on May 30th. I'm trying to trace it..." She furrowed her brow. "Whoever did this really covered their tracks... wait... got it!" They examined the plasma screen, and Ziva nodded. It was just as she'd expected. The hack had come from the Israeli Embassy, right here in Washington, D.C., a mere 1.5 hours after the encrypted transmission had been sent.

McGee remained standing there, transfixed, thoroughly enjoying watching Abby do her thing. He'd never admit it, but he still had a terrible crush on her, and he cherished every moment of the time spent working with her in the lab. He wasn't expecting the head slap. "McGee! Am I gonna get an answer on that trace sometime this century?"

"On it, Boss." Tim jumped back into action, tossing the empty Starbuck's cup into the trash next to the desk at which he was running a new program on the NSA communications system. They still had the link-up, and he was trying a different subroutine from the one Cyber Crimes had used, hoping to come up with a different result.

Abby anticipated Gibbs' next question, and began comparing the DNA from the short, blonde hair they'd found in Halpern's apartment, so far unidentified, against their database of known Mossad operatives. Ziva watched in fascination as the faces of her former compatriots flashed across the screen. She'd been on assignment with many of these people; she wondered if she herself might have been in this database at one time. It gave her an eerie feeling, and she shuddered involuntarily.

It didn't take long to get a hit. "I think we've found our killer," Abby declared victoriously. A very attractive, hazel-eyed blonde woman appeared on the plasma. She had long hair in the photo, but this didn't surprise Ziva, as it had been taken over a year ago. "Noreen Jessop," Abby read aloud. "Specialist in U.S.-Israeli relations, fluent in 10 languages, trained assassin."

"How tall is she, Abs?" Gibbs inquired.

Abby scanned the screen. " She's 5 feet 11 inches. Why? Is that important?"

Gibbs smiled. "Yeah. It's important. Now, if McGee ever gets his piece of this investigation finished, maybe we could actually let our Petty Officer out of that jail cell. Thanks Abs." He turned and headed back towards the elevator. "Ziva – "

"Put out a BOLO on Noreen Jessop. All ports of entry. I'm on it." She already had her cell phone pulled out and was dialling, as they stepped in and the doors glided shut.

"And send her photo over to the gun club, see if they I.D. her as the person who checked out the Glock."

Ziva nodded. Her mind was racing with questions, most of which she supposed would never be answered. How did the Mossad know that Louisa would be an appropriate scapegoat for the murder? Where did they get her hairs in order to plant them in Halpern's apartment? How long had Jessop been in the country, and was she still here? Did Halpern know her? (It seemed that he did, since they had apparently shared a glass of wine together).

Her stomach turned as she reflected on what had been done to Louisa. Setting aside momentarily the tinge of jealousy she felt for this woman, she was nevertheless revolted by the methods used by the Mossad in covering their tracks. They had come very close to ruining an innocent woman's life, simply as a device to buy time while they attempted to escape capture. Had it not been for Gibbs' persistence and instincts, their investigation would have looked no further than the Petty Officer, and Louisa would have been facing 20 years or more at Leavenworth. She hoped they would be able to stop Jessop before she got out of the country, so she'd have the opportunity to interrogate her.

* * *

_**12:33 p.m.**_

One by one, NCIS agents stepped aside as two Naval officers, father and son, marched purposefully towards the Interrogation room, visitor's badges prominently displayed although they had left their official escort in the dust. Rear Admiral Hank Penachetti stood 5'9" tall, was thinning on top, and had the same muscular build as his son. And he was on a mission. Only an hour ago, he'd learned that his daughter had, in fact, spent the night in a jail cell, and he was determined to find out why she was still being held. For his part, Captain Peter Penachetti was anxious to learn what 'new' evidence Supervisory Agent Gibbs had uncovered.

The phone call had been cryptic – Gibbs hadn't tipped his hand at all to indicate whether or not the latest revelations would help or hinder Louisa's situation. Pete would have to hear him out, and then decide what action could be taken under the circumstances. He wasn't holding out much hope of leaving here with his sister.

Tony was nowhere to be seen – Pete assumed he was now officially off the case. Gibbs met them in the hallway.

"Admiral."

"Where the hell is my daughter?" the elder Penachetti bellowed. He was tangling with the wrong man, and Pete knew it. Tony had been regaling him with stories about Gibbs' encounters with authority figures for the past five years, and he was well aware that his father was not going to win any battle he started with this man.

For his part, the former Marine remained perfectly calm. "She's right in there, Admiral," he stated matter-of-factly, nodding his head towards the door.

"Where's Vance? I want an explanation. On what grounds are you holding her?"

"She's been charged with unauthorized use of naval computer equipment, as well as sending false information to the government of Israel. Serious crimes. Unless and until we obtain additional evidence to the contrary, we'll continue to hold her on those charges."

Pete decided to jump in at this point. "Agent Gibbs, on the phone you told me you _did have_ new evidence."

"We do. But it's not related to the charges. We've been able to prove that Petty Officer Penachetti was not responsible for the murder of Jake Halden."

Ziva had e-mailed the photo of Noreen Jessop to the Fort Meade Rod & Gun Club, and the desk clerk had identified her as Louisa Penachetti, confirming that the biometric scanner had been tricked by the small piece of latex attached to her index finger. Jessop had checked out the Glock on Monday morning, and returned it less than two hours later.

"Murder?" The Admiral quizzed. Gibbs raised his eyebrows at Pete. Noting this, the Admiral himself glanced over at his son, realizing that he hadn't given him all the details of the situation.

"Yeah. I didn't see the point in telling you about that, since they hadn't laid any charges yet. Didn't want to worry you any more than necessary, sir."

Gibbs smiled at the formality the younger man adopted with his father and superior officer. "Captain, I have a couple more questions for Louisa. I assume you want to be present..."

"Absolutely." Pete followed Gibbs into the interrogation room, leaving the Admiral sputtering in the hallway. "Don't worry, Dad, I'll do everything I can to get this sorted out," Pete reassured him.

As soon as her eyes lit upon her brother, Louisa stood up and threw her arms around him. "Pete!"

"You ok, sis?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. You here to get me out?"

"We'll see."

Her face fell. This was not the response she'd hoped for. They sat down, and Louisa locked eyes with Gibbs. She no longer felt threatened by him; his gaze seemed gentler than it had late last night.

"Petty Officer... have any of your personal effects gone missing lately?"

She pondered the question for a long moment. "Well... I lost my hairbrush." By the expression on Gibbs' face, she could tell this must be important, so she continued. "I always keep it in the top drawer of my desk. The other day, I went to get it, and it was gone. I thought I was losing my mind – obviously I've misplaced it, but I have no idea where."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe someone took it?" Pete straightened up in his chair. He could see where the line of questioning was headed, and he was encouraged. Louisa, however, was puzzled.

"Who would want to steal a hairbrush?"

"I have a couple of theories. Can you describe it?"

"It's brown, with black bristles. About 10 inches long. Oval. And the handle has finger grips."

Gibbs pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. "Ziva? You on the scene? Good. Look for a woman's hairbrush, brown with black bristles." Ziva had been dispatched by Gibbs to Halpern's apartment to give the evidence a final once-over, this time with the probable linkage between the transmission and the murder in mind. He snapped the phone shut and turned back to the two siblings. "One more question... why did you never report Petty Officer Halden to your superior officer?"

* * *

_**1:12 p.m.**_

McGee came bounding into the bullpen like a Jack Russell terrier chasing after a Frisbee. "Where's Gibbs?" he demanded of Tony.

The Senior Field Agent didn't even look up from his computer screen. "Interrogation," he muttered distractedly. Suddenly it dawned on him what Tim had been working on, and why he might be so excited. He glanced up. "Why? You find something?"

"I might have..." McGee answered cryptically, giving Tony a sideways glance that told him he wasn't likely to get much information out of the junior agent. Tony raised his eyebrows and motioned with his hand for McGee to cough up the information, but Tim shook his head. "No way, Tony. Gibbs made it crystal clear, you're off the case, we're not to share any info with you... besides, why _should_ I tell you, when you never warned me about that damned cat?"

Tony was genuinely surprised at this comeback. He'd completely forgotten to mention the cat when they'd debriefed for the first time. It hadn't dawned on him that Tim would have an allergic reaction when he went to Louisa's apartment, and he had not (for once) intentionally left out this vital piece of information. He was contrite. "Sorry about that, Tim. I kinda had other things on my mind... was it bad?"

"Well, I went through half a box of Kleenex and six Benadryl... you honestly forgot about it?" McGee wanted to stay mad at Tony, but he was finding it difficult, given his atypical behaviour.

"Yeah... Look, McGee... I'm really worried. I don't want Louisa to have to spend another night in that holding cell. So if you've got something that could exonerate her – "

"Why do you care so much?" Tim interjected, deciding he might as well broach the question that had been on everyone's mind. "Abby referred to Louisa as your 'girlfriend'. Something I should know?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "She's _not_ my girlfriend, all right?... " He glanced back at his computer screen, avoiding Tim's gaze, and muttered softly, "... but she _is_ special to me."

McGee was taken aback. He'd never seen Tony this serious when talking about a woman. _Any_ woman. Not even Jeanne. He wasn't even trying to hide his cards, and Tim took pity on him, sensing that whatever was going on inside Tony DiNozzo's head and heart, he didn't have complete control of it. McGee had a kind soul, and he couldn't bring himself to continue torturing his partner in the face of his obvious discomfort.

Tim licked his lips and gave a furtive glance around the squad room, subconsciously scanning for any sign of the Boss. "All right, but don't you _dare_ tell anyone I told you this before Gibbs." Tony sat up eagerly, and Tim continued. "I re-ran the trace using a different algorithm. It kept hanging at a certain point. When I tried to get it going again, I realized the problem was a consistency error in the random number generator."

"In English, Probie."

He ignored the barb, and carried on. "Someone re-programmed the random number generator, after the fact, in order to alter the apparent source of the signal when the trace was conducted. They made it look like the signal came from Petty Officer Penachetti's workstation. But when I corrected for the programming change, and re-ran the trace, I discovered that, in fact, it came from _Halpern's_ computer. Looks like Mossad was doing a bit of clean-up after the fact, to hide the fact that they had a sleeper agent embedded at NSA."

He proceeded to fill Tony in on the details of Abby's discovery regarding the fake fingerprints. They now had all the pieces of evidence needed to prove Louisa had been an innocent victim of a highly sophisticated frame-up job. DiNozzo felt about 10 pounds lighter upon hearing this news. Tim was heading down to give the news to Gibbs, and soon Louisa would be released. Tony would make sure he was there waiting for her.

* * *

"One more question... why did you never report Petty Officer Halden to your superior officer?"

She lowered her eyes. "Halden would have ratted me out. He knew I'd sent that video, he knew I was scared of getting caught. I guess I'm lucky all he did was send me rude notes and blow a few spitballs."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Pete. "He did far more than that, I'm afraid." He pulled out one of the photos from the little 'shrine' they'd found at the crime scene. She gasped at the sight of it, and Pete muttered _Oh my God! _"Jacob Halpern was a stalker," Gibbs continued. "I'm guessing his behaviour would have escalated if he hadn't been killed. You _were _fortunate, it looks like the Mossad got to him first."

"Jacob Halpern...?" the Petty Officer queried in confusion.

"... was Jake Halden. He was a Mossad operative... a sleeper agent."

"Uh, Boss, could I have a word, please?" McGee's voice floated into the interrogation room, and Gibbs glanced over at the one-way glass with a scowl. "It's very important," Tim added meekly, as if this would absolve him of the horrid crime he'd committed by breaking Rule # 22.

Gibbs pulled back the crime scene photo and slid it back into the file folder, slamming it shut and rising from the table. "Excuse me." He left them alone, and marched into Observation. "This better be good, McGee."

"It is, Boss. Jacob Halpern sent that encrypted transmission, not Louisa Penachetti. Someone tricked out the system to divert the IP address trace. They probably wouldn't have known, until they did it, who it would end up pointing to instead. I'm guessing that's how they determined she was the one they would frame for the murder."

Gibbs smiled, at which point the tension visibly left McGee's shoulders. "Someone, meaning Mossad."

"Most likely. It's technically impossible to tell."

"Thanks, Tim." The supervisory agent patted McGee proudly on the back, and headed back into Interrogation. McGee stood in awe, but part of him was uncomfortable – for once the Boss was not taking his computer skills for granted, but, rather, was showing genuine appreciation. Why was he behaving this way? This was not Gibbs. He'd been acting a bit funny all day.

Tim shook it off, and headed back out towards the bullpen, running into DiNozzo along the way, going in the opposite direction. They exchanged glances and nodded at each other, sealing an unspoken deal to keep mum about the informal debriefing Tim had given Tony.

The door to Interrogation opened, and Gibbs leaned in, announcing, "You're free to go, Petty Officer."

"Agent Gibbs?" Pete queried.

"We're dropping the charges. We have new evidence pointing to Jacob Halpern as the sender of the transmission."

"That's it? No apology?" Pete was incredulous. "After everything you put my sister through –"

"It's ok, Pete. They were just doing their jobs." The last thing Louisa wanted was to make a scene, especially when she didn't know who might be watching on the other side of that glass. She approached the doorway, and Gibbs backed out of the room to let her pass. She ran straight into the arms of her father, who was much-relieved to note his daughter was not wearing handcuffs. "It's over, Daddy!" she exclaimed, and he hugged her tight, lifting her off the floor as she giggled with delight.

Tony appeared just then around the corner, ostensibly heading for the bathroom, but in reality his arrival was timed with Swiss-watch precision. As Louisa pulled away from her father's embrace, she caught sight of DiNozzo.

"_Tony!_" she squealed, running to him and wrapping her arms tightly about his torso. She buried her face in his chest, and he pulled her to himself, tucking her head under his chin and closing his eyes. He was beaming from ear to ear, and Gibbs could tell that, somehow, Tony already knew what was going on – someone had spilled the beans. Then again, did it really matter at this point?

They held each other for a long moment, until finally Tony opened one eye and caught Pete Penachetti staring at them, mouth agape. The Admiral also appeared to be supremely interested in the touching reunion unfolding in front of him. Instinctively, DiNozzo pulled back from the embrace, and took Louisa's tiny hands in his own. She smiled up at him. "Thank you."

"I didn't really do anything," he shook his head, glancing over at McGee, who now had emerged from Observation and was standing next to Gibbs in the hallway, wearing a wide grin that told Tony that Abby's theory about his love life was gaining traction.

"You never gave up on me. You kept the investigation going. I'd be looking at years in prison if it weren't for you."

Tony shook his head, and glanced over at Gibbs. He knew full well that, even without his own misgivings, Gibbs had had enough doubts of his own that the investigation would have gone the same way regardless. He couldn't take credit for something that wasn't his doing. "It was a team effort," he demurred, and Gibbs nodded his approval. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you let me take you home, so you can get some proper rest?"

She nodded. It would be so lovely to dive under the fluffy covers of her goose-down duvet and let all her cares of the past 48 hours drift away, the nightmare finally over. With a nod to Pete and the Admiral, Tony took Louisa's hand and escorted her to the elevator. Moments later, the doors slid shut and they disappeared from view, leaving two confused Naval officers and two bemused NCIS agents to compare notes about what they'd just witnessed.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: For those of you who've been waiting patiently for it for the past 11 chapters, here's a bit of lovely fluffiness at last. SQUEE! Enjoy...  
**

**Disclaimer: The Canon characters belong to DPB and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010 2:07 p.m.**_

There was a long silence after the elevator doors closed. All four men stood pondering Tony and Louisa's little 'moment', each with a different perspective.

Admiral Penachetti had met Tony before, at Pete's house, and he liked him. But he'd never thought of him as a potential suitor for his daughter. To his surprise, the thought appealed to him.

Gibbs had made note of Tony's friendship with Pete when they'd met five years ago, working the case of a Navy pilot from NAS Corpus Christi who'd been accused of discharging his weapons while on a training exercise over international waters. He'd never heard mention of Pete's sister, however, and now he found himself wondering how Abby had managed to pick up on signals that he himself had missed. Admittedly, he'd been distracted lately. He gave his head a shake – if he'd been alone, it would have been a self-inflicted slap.

For his part, McGee couldn't wait to get back to Abby's lab and spill the beans. And he also wondered what Ziva would think, upon hearing confirmation that there definitely was 'something' going on between the Senior Field Agent and the Petty Officer. She'd been a little too quick to dispute the idea earlier, and Tim felt certain that possessiveness, if not outright jealousy, was consuming their partner. However this whole thing ended, it would be interesting. Of that, he was certain.

"What the hell was _that_?" Pete Penachetti broke the silence. He couldn't remember ever seeing Louisa behave that way with _any_ man, let alone a guy with a reputation as a womanizer. His protective, big brother instincts were coming to the fore, and even though this was his best friend, he knew Tony's track record with women, and he was wary of letting his sister lose her heart to him. He was certain no good could come of it.

Gibbs shook his head with a sly smile. "That... was Tony being Tony." There was nothing more to be said. He spun on his heels and headed back towards the bullpen. McGee shrugged his shoulders at Pete, a bemused look pasted across his face, turned, and followed his Boss.

"Dad, I swear, I didn't know... " Pete protested, anticipating his father's displeasure at what they'd just witnessed.

"He's Italian, Son," the Admiral smiled, patting his astonished offspring gently on the back and pushing the down button on the elevator.

* * *

_**2:07 p.m.**_

Tony and Louisa descended to the parking garage level, and he led her past the banks of vans and squad cars to the other end, where the agents parked their personal vehicles. She played a game in her mind, trying to guess what type of car Tony drove. She heard the 'beep' and saw the tail lights flash as he unlocked the doors with the key fob... a 2010 Mustang convertible, in Performance White with a grey soft top. She'd been way off (she figured him for a BMW kind of guy, especially given how spiffy he was looking today. She almost had to pinch herself to believe she was really being escorted by this handsome, impeccably-dressed man).

Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Louisa, and she slid down onto the grey leather seat with glee. It was smooth as butter, and seemed to fit her body perfectly. Tony came round the back and took the driver's seat, unclipping the soft top where it met the windshield, and hitting a button on the dash. The top began to recede as he started the engine and gingerly backed out of his spot. He'd only had this baby for a few weeks, and he was still treating her with kid gloves, afraid to get even the slightest scratch on her. He'd named her Molly.

Louisa had never had a ride in a convertible before. She tried to hide her excitement, but she was giddy with anticipation, and giggled a little more than she wanted to when Tony smiled across at her. As they pulled out onto the street from the underground garage, she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, I've just remembered – my car is still at work!"

"No problem," Tony responded airily, "I'll take you there instead." And with that, they headed out into the traffic, and made their way to the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. He put the pedal to the metal once they'd merged with the highway traffic, and put Molly through her paces (they were just ahead of the rush hour, when everything would slow to a painful crawl, and he didn't often get the chance to run her full-throttle). Louisa let out a yelp of delight as she experienced the wind breezing through her hair, and Tony tilted his head back and laughed.

"I feel like Sloane Peterson in Ferris Bueller's Day Off!" she exclaimed. Tony glanced over at her with delight – a movie reference! Could this get any better?

"Well, if you're Sloane, who am I, Ferris, or Cameron?"

"Take a wild guess..." she winked at him, and held out her hand on the seat next to her. He took it and gave it a firm squeeze.

"You know, Ferris was a very bad boy..." he teased.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this carefree, especially when in the company of a woman. Normally he would have his guard up, even as he tried to charm her with his wit and humour. He'd be playing a role, showing her what he wanted her to see... not the _real_ Tony DiNozzo, but Undercover Tony, who was perfectly at ease.

Because, in truth, the _real_ Tony DiNozzo was actually not comfortable around women. After all, he hadn't exactly had great role models to follow. A mother who drank to escape the emptiness of her life, and a father who drank to avoid feeling anything at all. Both of them, running away from reality. Was it any wonder Tony had a hard time listening to his heart? And it had only gotten more difficult after Jeanne. He'd taken a chance, let down his guard, and had been hurt, deeply. After that, a retreat, back to the comfort zone of make-believe and swagger.

Somehow though, with Louisa he felt free to be himself, without pretense. It dawned on him that perhaps this was because in the beginning, he'd never thought of her as a potential romantic partner, and so Undercover Tony had never shown his face. She was just Pete's sister, an ordinary girl (sorry, Kate - _woman_), not a knockout beauty on whom he'd set his sights from afar. But she _was_ beautiful, he thought to himself. And she had a lovely spirit behind those big brown eyes and that 1,000 watt smile.

"I guess we caused a bit of a stir back there," Louisa remarked.

Tony groaned. "Yeah, between McGee and Abby, they'll probably have us married off by the time I get back..."

Louisa turned bright red at this remark. "I'm sorry, Tony, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

He laughed. "No worries – it's what we do. We tease each other, like family. If it wasn't that, it'd be something else... besides, who said I was embarrassed?"

She smiled, relieved. "You seem to be a very close-knit team... they went out on a limb for you, didn't they, tracking down all that extra evidence?" Tony nodded. She continued, "So, how did that guy manage to prove that I didn't send the signal?"

"You'd have to ask McGeek for the technical explanation, but the Dummies version is that he figured out Mossad had put a glitch in the programming to make it _look_ like it was you. Even our Cyber Crimes division missed it, but Tim figured it out," he remarked.

She pondered his response for a moment. "You're proud of him, aren't you?"

DiNozzo grinned. "Yeah. But don't ever tell _him_ that – I'd never live it down."

"But what about my fingerprints?" she pressed on. "How the heck did they make it look like my fingerprints were in his apartment when I'd never even set foot in it?"

"Ah, that's Abby's department."

"She's the one who got _you_ out of jail, right?"

"One and the same. Brilliant forensic scientist... a bit off the wall, but she's a sweetheart nonetheless... if you ignore the black lips, the tats, and the spiky dog collar, she kinda reminds me of you, actually." Ignoring Louisa's furrowed brow upon hearing the physical description of her forensic benefactor, he proceeded to summarize for Louisa how Noreen Jessop had created fake fingertips, assumed her identity at the gun club, and then visited Jacob Halpern in his apartment, tarrying long enough to share a glass of wine with him before shooting him in cold blood.

Louisa shuddered. "I'm so blessed... if it had been any other team investigating this, I wouldn't have stood a chance." She smiled gratefully at him, fingering the rosary in her pocket with her free hand. Her thoughts then drifted back to their first encounter, in the staff lounge. "What about that other woman, the one who was doing the interrogations with you? She seemed a bit intense... " she drifted off, uncertain whether it was wise to open up this line of questioning.

"Ziva David. She's scary." He kept his eyes fixed on the road. "Trained assassin. Once killed a man with a credit card, if you believe what she says." Louisa made a face. "Former Mossad agent. Her father's in charge of the whole agency, back in Tel-Aviv."

At this, she turned to him in alarm. "Are you sure you can trust her?"

"Oh, yeah, she's cool. She's left all that behind. Basically cut off all ties with her father – he sent her off on what amounted to a suicide mission, left her for dead... we had to go in and rescue her."

Louisa picked up on the undertone in Tony's voice. "You're very close." She hadn't meant it to sound like jealousy, but that was how it had come out. She groaned inwardly. What right did she have to lay claim on this man, anyway? She'd known him for less than 48 hours, whereas he worked beside Ziva every day. The woman was his partner - she might even have saved _his_ life a time or two. Tony's silence alarmed Louisa, and she struggled to fill the void. "I didn't mean – "

"No. I know what you meant." He nodded. There was no point in denying it. "We've had our moments. Pretty hard not to, when you work as closely as we do. But we have kind of a 'love/hate' relationship. Like I said, she's scary. Sleeps with a gun. One time, when she was really mad at me, she shoved me on the ground and stuck the barrel of her Sig in my gut. Now, I like 'unpredictable' as much as the next guy, but... that was a bit much."

Louisa's jaw had dropped open. "I know she's a federal agent, but... even so, isn't that _illegal_?"

"Very. But when you're a Mossad officer on Israeli soil, people tend to look the other way."

"And you still feel comfortable working with her?" she asked incredulously. "I sure hope she got some anger management training."

Tony guffawed. "That's really good! I'll have to use that one on her sometime... anger management training... " he chuckled.

The easy banter continued as they approached the NSA. The agency was so large that it had its own employee off-ramp from the freeway. There were 112 _acres_ of parking spaces surrounding the building, so Tony was very grateful that Louisa knew exactly where her vehicle was parked. She wasn't anywhere near high enough on the food chain to qualify for a designated parking spot, but she nearly always managed to get one within easy walking distance of the building, thanks to her hours of work. Usually she'd be pulling in just as someone from the day shift was begging off a bit early, and she could just slide into their spot.

"Turn right – down here," she motioned to Tony. As they finally pulled up behind her 2007 tan-coloured Ford Escape, Louisa's heart sank at the thought of this adventure coming to an end.

"So... wanna do lunch on Thursday?" He tried to make it as casual a question as could be, but in reality his heart was pounding as he anticipated her response.

She nodded enthusiastically. "I'd love to! What time?"

_She said yes!_ "Well, I guess you normally eat later in the afternoon, right?" She nodded. "Ok, how about we say 14:00? I think I can hold out that long. I'll have a big breakfast," he grinned.

"That's perfect."

"Ok, why don't you meet me downstairs in the atrium at the Yard, and we'll go from there?"

"Sounds good," she smiled.

Tony stared into her eyes for a long moment, debating whether or not he should do what he really wanted to do next. He swallowed, plucked up his courage, and leaned towards her. Picking up his signal, she responded, tilting her head to the side and shutting her eyes as her lips met his. A warm tingle passed through her body as she thrilled to his kiss. She slid her hand behind his head and ran her fingers through his hair, as he sidled closer, laying one hand on her thigh and wrapping the other around her neck. He let out a soft moan as her fingers worked their magic, and he deepened the kiss, their tongues doing a slow dance.

It wasn't fair – she got to go home after this, whereas he would have to head back to the Navy Yard, and present himself to his colleagues as if none of this had happened. For one fleeting moment, the thought occurred to him that he should have worn a suit that didn't crease. It was the longest 48 seconds in Tony's recent memory, and when finally they pulled back and gazed at each other in amazement, he was breathless.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on Thursday, then," he mumbled, his eyes locked on hers.

"Uh-huh," was all the giddy Louisa could manage to respond. She glanced down at her purse, and fumbled for her keys, unlocking the SUV with her fob. DiNozzo climbed out of the car and quickly came round to her side as she did so, opening her door. He noted with appreciation the smooth, toned legs as she climbed out.

Both of them were now conscious that there were other people in the parking lot. The odds were slim that any of them knew Louisa, but just in case, Tony didn't want to make life difficult for her by giving anyone fodder for the office rumour mill. So he simply gave her a final peck on the cheek, muttering once more, "Thursday..." and sauntered back to the driver's side of the Mustang, putting the vehicle in reverse and making room for her to back out. As she drove off, she gave a finger-wave to him in the rear-view mirror, and he responded in kind, following her out so he wouldn't get lost in the maze that was the NSA parking lot.

How the hell was he going to last until Thursday?

* * *

**A/N: Ok now girls, go and take that cold shower. I know you need it, 'cos I sure do...**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This chapter did not come easily, and it's been 'tweaked' to death. But at a certain point you have to just put it out there and say, enough already.  
**

**Rating: T for language.**

**Disclaimer: The Usual.**

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010 2:14 p.m.**_

McGee made it down to Abby's lab in record time, taking the stairs (two at a time), because the elevator seemed to be stuck up on the 6th floor. She was just packing up the evidence from the Halden case so it could be delivered to the evidence locker as Tim arrived, breathless and over-excited.

"Abby! You were right!" He grabbed the box from her hands and deposited it on the counter.

"Of course I was – the evidence never lies, McGee." She grinned triumphantly, waiting for him to elaborate; when he didn't, she punched him in the arm. "What was I right about?"

"Tony and that Petty Officer – he's taking her home, as we speak."

She licked her index finger and traced a 'one' in the air. "Do I have great instincts, or what? Tell me _everything_," she pleaded.

McGee proceeded to describe the warm reunion between Tony and Louisa in the hallway outside interrogation, and their departure, hand in hand. Abby was underwhelmed.

"That's it? No kiss? C'mon McGee, please tell me you have more than _that_."

"Well, Captain Penachetti didn't seem too thrilled about it. _He_ obviously thought there was something going on," Tim retorted defensively.

She sighed. "Well, I guess it's better than nothing. Keep me posted." She picked up the box of evidence from the counter and handed it to him. "Do me a favour, and take this down to the evidence locker? Thanks, McGee!" She smiled sweetly at him, then spun on her heels and went right back to work, ignoring his continued presence.

"I'll...just...take this... down... to the evidence locker, then," he mumbled, retreating to the elevator and mentally reviewing their exchange to see where he'd gone wrong. He figured it for the scoop of the week, if not the month, but Abby didn't seem the least bit impressed. "I guess you had to be there," he called back to her as the doors glided shut.

* * *

_**2:45 p.m.**_

Ziva returned to the Navy Yard with several evidence bags containing items one would not normally expect to find in a Jewish bachelor's apartment: a box of tampons, a silver crucifix pendant, two lipsticks, a small plush toy panda, a dainty pillbox containing Tylenol and Motrin tablets, and a hairbrush – brown, with black bristles. She showed the items to Gibbs, who grunted approvingly. She then proceeded down to the lab to have the items processed. She assumed they all belonged to Louisa Penachetti.

She contemplated once again the suggestion that Louisa was Tony's girlfriend. Ludicrous, for several reasons. They'd known each other for a mere 48 hours. She was short. She was a bit heavy. She was plain. Tony always went for the tall, willowy beauty. The cover girl. He was all about appearances... including his own. Designer suit. Impeccable grooming. And the ambiance had to be just right on every date – often pulled right out of a film setting. He went to great lengths to ensure everything was perfect. One thing was certain: Louisa Penachetti was far from perfect.

Ziva considered the body of evidence to support Abby's theory. Yes, his behaviour had been out of character where the Petty Officer was concerned. But all of those signals could simply be the result of his friendship with her brother. It would be only natural for him to be concerned about Louisa, and look out for her welfare, convinced that she was being framed. And having experienced very similar circumstances himself several years ago, it would make sense that he'd have a particular understanding and empathy for what she was going through.

But there was one thing that blew that theory out of the water: he'd quite suddenly become more distant, less familiar; he wasn't teasing her, wasn't rubbing up against her, wasn't undressing her with his eyes in that particular way that told her he'd love to get her in the elevator, press the STOP button and go nuts for 20 minutes or so. Even though she'd always thought the behaviour juvenile, part of her had been titillated by it.

So...was it over? Was Anthony DiNozzo finally growing up? Falling in love? With a real, _ordinary_ woman?

True, it wasn't the first time she'd seen him this way. But with Jeanne, it hadn't been real – well, not at the start, anyway. He'd been under cover. And the transformation had been much more gradual. There was something different this time, Ziva decided. And she was determined to get some answers.

* * *

_**3:32 p.m.**_

Tony felt a bit like the high school kid who's been smoking in the washroom and comes sneaking back into class hoping the teacher won't notice the cigarette smell on his clothes. Parking his car, he moved quickly through the garage to the elevator, and when the doors opened on the 2nd floor, he glided stealthily to the men's room, so he could check himself over for incriminating evidence... lipstick on the collar... anything at all that might possibly tip one of them off (especially Gibbs, who never missed a thing).

He ran his hands under the tap and slid his fingers through his hair to smooth it out. She'd mussed it up quite a bit; he grinned – she couldn't possibly have known, but that was one of his biggest turn-ons. As he glanced back up in the mirror, he caught the dark shadow of a figure standing behind him. He hadn't heard anyone come in. The figure stepped forward into the light. Ziva. She had locked the door.

"You are in love, yes?" It was a purely factual statement. Not an accusation, not a confrontation, barely even a question.

He tried to read her face in the mirrored reflection, but there was nothing. No emotion. Was she upset? Angry? Jealous? He couldn't tell. He steeled himself, matching her neutral expression. "Why do you ask?"

"I always like to separate fact from rumour. And, rumour has it, that you and the Petty Officer are an 'item'. I thought it would be wise to find out... from the horse's mouth... did I say that right?"

He nodded, but didn't respond immediately. How best to handle this? Ziva had terrific instincts; there seemed little point in trying to hide the truth, because she'd figure it out anyway. But he desperately wanted to keep this relationship private, at least for now. Best to get more information first. "What are they saying?"

"Abby is referring to Louisa as your 'girlfriend'. McGee is certain that you will be spending the night with her tonight. And Gibbs believes you will break her heart, as you have all the others, and that your friendship with Captain Penachetti will end as a result."

"Sounds like they've got all the bases covered... and what about you? What are _you_ thinking, Ziva?"

He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. She stepped up close to him, her leg brushing against his, and stared thoughtfully into his green eyes. "I am thinking... that it is perhaps too soon to call it 'love', but that you are obviously infatuated by her. Although... I fail to understand why."

Damn. She had him nailed. As usual. He licked his lips, and struggled to find the right words with which to respond. He decided he might as well play along. "Why not?"

"She is not attractive." She had tossed out the observation in such a matter-of-fact way. The gauntlet had been thrown down.

"Your opinion. Not mine." His jaw was set, his eyes had narrowed, and Ziva felt the air chilling around her. But she was not one to back down when challenged. Obviously, she'd hit a nerve. Obviously, there _was_ something more here than concern for a friend's sister.

"Your taste has changed, then."

At this, he became defensive. "You may think you know me, Ziva, but you don't. I don't tell you about _all_ my relationships. I'm entitled to some privacy in my personal life."

"But no-one else is, are they? You are always trying to eke out every little detail about everyone else's dates. Your curiosity is insatiable. I've seen you going through McGee's desk drawer, scanning his computer while he's down in the lab, going through his coat pockets..."

"Yeah, kinda like you, reading my e-mails, which is how you figured out that Pete was my best friend." Her face fell. "You know what they say about people in glass houses, don't you Ziva?"

"They should not throw rocks," she responded, slightly chastened.

"Stones. But yeah, that's the general idea." He glared at her. "The difference is, I snoop for _fun_, and if I found anything, I would never use it against McGee, except to tease him. And you know that. But you don't have boundaries like that, do you Ziva? You'll use anything against anyone, like you ratted to Gibbs to get me off this case."

"_I did not 'rat' to Gibbs!_" she seethed defiantly. "I told no-one. Gibbs has ways of finding out about things, he does not need me to feed him information... you have so little trust in me, that you think I would do such a thing?" She turned away from him, and instantly he regretted his words. A painful silence hung in the air, until Tony could stand it no longer.

"I'm sorry." He reached out and gently tugged at her arm. But she resisted the pull of his hand. "I do trust you." Still, she didn't move. "With my life." At this, finally she turned to face him. "Ziva... does it bother you that I might have feelings for someone else?"

She hadn't expected him to lay it out so plainly, and Ziva found herself struggling for the right words. "You are my partner. It's my job to watch your back, just as it is yours to watch mine. But... I have no claim over your heart." She cupped his cheek with her hand. "Rule # 12 exists for a good reason. We might compromise a situation if we let personal feelings cloud our judgement." She gently kissed his cheek. "Be happy, Tony."

She pulled away, and quickly vacated the men's room, leaving DiNozzo standing by the bank of sinks, alone and confused.

* * *

_**Wednesday, June 2, 2010 8:33 p.m.**_

"I don't believe it! How the hell did that one get past him?"

"Briere was in the crease – that should've been a penalty, not a goal!"

"Shit." In his over-excited state, Tony had spilled beer all over his t-shirt.

"_Language!_" Julia was halfway down the basement stairs, carrying a bowl of cheese doodles in one hand and a bag of salt & vinegar potato chips in the other. Like two overgrown teenagers, Pete and Tony were getting their regular fix of Stanley Cup Playoff action in the Penachetti basement, drinking Bud Light and munching on various unhealthy snacks. The basement rec room was home base at this time of year, with its 58-inch TV, surround sound system, and wet bar.

"Sorry, Jules," DiNozzo responded sheepishly.

"Commercial. Time to hit the head." Pete jumped up and trotted towards the stairs, leaving Tony to mop himself up. He gave Julia a quick peck on the cheek as he breezed past her. "Thanks, Hon." He plunged his hand into the bowl of cheese doodles, knocking a few onto the floor in the process. She set the bowl down on the coffee table, and sighed as she picked up the offending morsels.

"Here." Julia handed Tony a wad of paper towels from the bar. "You'd better hope you don't get stopped by the cops on the way home – you're doing a great imitation of an alchie tonight."

"Ooohh, I can feel the love in this room," Tony quipped. Julia scowled at him.

"Just don't get any of that on my new carpet." And with that, she marched back upstairs. She wasn't a sports fan at the best of times, and hockey season seemed to go on forever. It brought out the worst in those two, she thought to herself, shaking her head in resignation.

Tony's buddy returned a few minutes later, and they settled back down to watch the last five minutes of the first period. Pete took a long draw on his beer, then remarked casually, "So... I hear you asked my sister out on a date."

Tony almost choked on the handful of potato chips he'd just shoved in his mouth. He gave Pete a sideways glance, defences ready. He knew without asking that his friend didn't really approve. "How'd you hear that?"

"She called to ask me for advice."

"Advice?" Tony set down his beer on the coffee table and stared at his friend incredulously.

"Yeah, you know... topics of conversation, that sort of thing."

"Okay..." Tony wasn't certain how to interpret this.

"You gotta understand, Tony. My sister's not exactly... _experienced_... when it comes to the world of dating. In fact, I don't think she's even _been_ on a date since high school."

Tony chuckled at the thought, reflecting on the passionate kiss they'd shared the day before. "Aw, c'mon Pete, she's thirty years old! How would _you_ know, anyway? She could have a secret life you know nothing about."

"I doubt it. She had a... bad experience... in eleventh grade."

Tony was all ears – this could be the explanation he'd been searching for to account for the missing years in the high school website photos. "What happened?"

"Uh-uh. Not my place to share. If she wants you to know about it, she'll tell you. Suffice it to say, she's always been kinda nervous about being alone with a man, ever since I can remember. I can't believe she actually agreed to go out with you... you must've made quite an impression on her."

Tony took a sip of his beer. "It's mutual."

"Just do me one favour, would ya?"

"Sure..."

"Don't break her heart."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I bow before the Google gods...they led me to the Belga ****Café****, and even told me how much time it would take to walk there from NCIS HQ! I found the menu on the ****Café****'s website - Tony and Louisa's orders are genuinely available on the lunch menu. The spinach salad has a totally unpronounceable name - _Spinazie Salade Met Sinaasapple_ - which would just have been ridiculous to include in the story. But there you have it - a cool bit of trivia for ya! ****Oh, and a pox on ffdotnet for taking away all my lovely e-mail formatting! Just pretend the e-mail addresses have atncisdotnavydotmil on the end, and that there's no space in the file name of the attachment. Meanwhile, I'll take a couple of deep breaths and try to calm down. It'll be formatted correctly if you read it in my LJ.**

**A note about changes to earlier chapters - I recently discovered that there is canon proof of Tony's age. In the Season 5 episode "In The Zone" (fantastic episode, BTW, with a lovely brave, professional and serious Tony), our hero's birthdate is shown to be July 19, 1968. That makes our boy 41, going on 42, in this story. I had him pegged at 39, going on 40. So...I will be revising previous chapters accordingly where necessary. Sorry for the confusion. I'm still learning...and he does look younger than his years...*smile***

**_Edit: After receiving some valuable feedback from a friend on LJ, I've changed my mind and decided to leave Tony's age as-is. She rightly pointed out that the prop guys don't necessarily have the last word when it comes to canon (the birthdate was on Tony's ID badge). As mentioned by some of my reviewers, Kate does make him 32 in season 1, and he doesn't deny it. He accuses her of reading his file, which suggests to me that she was right. _**

**Warnings: Spoilers for Season 4 in this chapter  
**

**Disclaimer: Canon characters belong to DPB, CBS & Co. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

_**Wednesday, June 2, 2010 4:52 p.m.**_

Louisa Penachetti furrowed her brow, desperately attempting to focus on a jumble of Syrian code that was causing her to go cross-eyed with frustration. She was getting a mild headache, and was finding it difficult to concentrate.

Ever since sharing that passionate kiss in Tony's Mustang yesterday, she'd been distracted almost beyond belief. Whenever she closed her eyes, the scent of his after-shave returned to her memory, and suddenly she was right there with him all over again... the feel of his hand on her thigh... his breath on her neck... his tongue in her mouth. It was wonderful, and thrilling, and so... so _not her_.

She felt a bit like Cinderella. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen. Prince Charming wasn't supposed to notice an ordinary girl like her. He was out of her league. It was the stuff of fairly tales.

A horrible thought drifted into her consciousness... was he playing her? Had he perhaps made a bet that he could seduce the good little Catholic girl?

Tony was a master at undercover work; she knew that much from hearing Pete crow about his friend's exploits. She also knew that he'd had a very serious relationship with a woman named Jeanne four years ago, which had turned out to be all a sham. Pete had been completely convinced that Tony was ready to settle down with her, ready to enter domestic bliss. But, in the end, Tony had claimed that he never truly loved her – it had just been part of an elaborate undercover operation.

If he could fool a presumably 'experienced' woman under those circumstances... well... fooling Louisa would be child's play.

She bit her lower lip, ashamed to be having such thoughts. Pete was an excellent judge of character, and he would not befriend a man who was capable of doing such a thing to his own sister. It was as simple as that. Perhaps Pete could help her, give her some idea of how to proceed? Maybe if she knew more about Tony, she'd feel more confident?

She dialled her brother's number.

* * *

_**Thursday, June 3, 2010 1:53 p.m.**_

Tony glanced at his watch. For about the 5th time in the past hour. McGee shot an annoyed glance over at Ziva, who for her part was trying desperately to ignore the fidgety SFA. It wasn't easy. He was dressed to the nines in Armani and Zegna, had a fresh haircut, and smelled absolutely delicious.

"Will you quit that, Tony? You're making me nervous," McGee muttered under his breath.

"Going somewhere, DiNozzo?" Gibbs chimed in, observing his senior agent rising to his feet.

"Yeah, Boss," he admitted sheepishly, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the elevator. "I'm taking a late lunch. That ok with you?" he asked hopefully. He'd meant to clear it with Gibbs yesterday, but the Boss hadn't been around much, and the opportunity for a private conversation had not presented itself.

He didn't particularly care if anyone else knew where he was going today. But this wasn't like any other date he'd ever been on – he felt no urge to boast about it to his colleagues. With Jeanne, he'd been _unable_ to brag; with Louisa, he simply didn't feel the need.

"What if I said no?" Gibbs could read his senior agent like a book, and he could tell, both by Tony's demeanor and his attire, that this late lunch involved a woman. He put on his best poker face. He was going to enjoy this.

DiNozzo sank back down into his chair. "Well... then... I'd have to make a phone call." Gibbs raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, and the message was crystal clear to Tony. _Better_ _make your phone call, then_.

Ziva saw through the ruse, and grinned devilishly at McGee, who was taking every word Gibbs said – and didn't say – with the utmost seriousness. Tony's mouth opened and closed like a stunned guppy. He stared at Gibbs, but got no reaction whatsoever. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the receiver.

"My office." Gibbs stood and marched off toward the elevator. Tony followed him with his eyes, then jumped up, slamming the receiver back down and grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair (just in case) as he ran to catch up to him. Ziva stifled a giggle and grinned once more at McGee, on whom the entire scene was somehow lost.

* * *

Gibbs punched the STOP button as they began to descend, and the lights dimmed. "Late lunch, huh?" He leaned back against the wall, waiting for his senior agent to respond. Tony nodded, but didn't say a word. "Louisa Penachetti."

Tony's look was incredulous. "How the hell do you do that, Boss?" Gibbs shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Tony recovered his composure quickly, and tried a new tactic. "I was going to ask you yesterday, but...well, I've noticed you haven't been around much lately... somethin's up, isn't it?" It was just like Tony to try to shift the focus of the conversation like that. Gibb's wasn't having it.

"Nothing that concerns _you_, DiNozzo. I was going to ask you the very same question."

"You were? Why?" Tony knew damn well why, but he wasn't about to give up that easily.

"Maybe because I'm still waiting for your report on Jacob Halpern's murder."

"Uh, you took me off that case, remember?"

"Don't be a smart-ass, Tony. You were officially involved for the first 36 hours of it, and unofficially, you never _did_ come off it. You know better than to assume I wouldn't want a report... but you've obviously had other things on your mind..." Tony averted his gaze, realizing that he'd been pretty much useless for the past two days: fidgety, unfocused, distracted. It was out of character. He was off his game. Women didn't normally affect him this way. After a few tense moments, Gibbs broke the silence, and continued. "How long you gonna be?"

"Just an hour, hour and a half, tops," he replied, trying his best to sound casual about it all. "She's gotta be at work for 16:00. I'll make up the time if I'm late back."

Gibbs hit the STOP button again to kick-start the elevator, and they continued their descent to the ground level. "DiNozzo... when you're here, I need you to be _here_, 100%. Got that?" he growled, as the doors opened.

"Gotcha, Boss. Thanks." Tony gave a mock salute to his superior as both men stepped out into the atrium and the doors slid shut behind them. Gibbs marched straight out the main doors and to the right down Sicard Street, to the local Starbuck's for his latest caffeine fix. He gave Louisa a smile and a nod as he passed.

Tony hung back near the elevator doors for a moment, unable to explain how he'd escaped that little 'meeting' without the usual slap on the head, but not inclined to question it. He caught sight of Louisa as Gibbs passed her. She was standing by the front security desk with her back to him, gazing through the double set of glass doors at something outside. She was in full khakis, sensible dark brown pumps, and clutched a small handbag. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, but Tony sensed that vulnerability was just on the surface. If she was anything like her brother, Louisa Penachetti was, at her core, a little toughie. He was looking forward to finding out just how accurate this initial assessment was.

As he approached her from behind, he couldn't help admiring her curves. There was something to be said for a woman who wasn't all skin and bone. Placing his hands gently on her hips, he leaned in and whispered "Hey, You!" She nearly jumped out of her skin and let out a yelp, before spinning around and realizing it was him. Her reaction surprised him, and he was slightly taken aback. He tried to laugh it off. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya."

She smiled with relief, and giggled nervously. "S'ok." She looked him up and down approvingly. "It's good to see you again," she murmured. She felt like a pubescent girl, and desperately hoped she didn't sound like one too.

"Sure is," he responded, and without the slightest hesitation, he took her in his arms and kissed her, full on the lips. She bounced up onto her tip-toes and wrapped her arms up under his; with her hands on his shoulders, she pulled herself up and leaned into the kiss delightedly. Once again, Tony had to struggle to maintain his composure in this public forum. He pulled back and gazed into her dancing eyes gleefully. "You hungry?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded. He guided her to the doors, holding them open for her and gently pressing his hand against the small of her back as they exited onto Sicard Street.

"I hope you like Belgian food..."

* * *

With lightning speed, word of '_the kiss_' made its way throughout the building: snapshots from six different cell phones instantly flew into e-mail in-boxes in every department, from Behavioral Sciences, to Technical Services, to the Major Case Reponse Teams; and soon one in particular landed on Abby's computer:

* * *

Time: 2:04 p.m.

From: Timothy McGee  
To: Abigail Sciuto  
Cc: Ziva David

Subject: I TOLD YOU SO.

Attachments:_ Tony . jpg  
_

Forwarded Message: OMG! WHO IS THIS CHICK?

* * *

Within seconds of him hitting _Send_, the gleeful goth came bounding upstairs. "Ok, now THAT'S what I call _evidence_, Timmy!" she exclaimed. "So... how can we use it?"

"I fail to see the point of this," Ziva wet-blanketed. "He did not try to hide it; one may therefore assume he does not care if we know about it."

Their faces fell, as they realized she was probably right. Suddenly, Abby perked up again. "Put it up on the plasma, Tim." He obliged. "Ok, let's see what we can do with this." She sidled around next to McGee at his workstation, and began to play with the image, distorting it in various directions. They laughed uncontrollably, each iteration more grotesque and bizarre than the last. It was all in fun, but for some reason it made Ziva feel uncomfortable.

"This is not appropriate," she declaimed. Both Abby and McGee stopped dead and stared at her in disbelief. After all the practical jokes Tony had played on them over the years, many of them really bordering on cruel rather than funny, how could she not enjoy this?

"_What's_ not appropriate?" They all glanced up at once, to see Gibbs swinging into the bullpen, large coffee in hand, and twisting his head around to see the image displayed on the main plasma screen. McGee tried to shut it down, but he was too late.

"Uh, Boss, we were just testing out the new transitional imaging software I ordered from – "

"Get it off there, McGee!" Gibbs barked, his tone a bit more terse than usual.

With a single keystroke, it was gone. "Done, Boss."

"Some things are off-limits, McGee, and that's one of 'em."

"Yes, Sir." He slunk down into his chair, and Abby surreptitiously crept back to the rear elevator and returned to her lab. Maybe Tim couldn't get away with it right in front of Gibbs, but she could continue their handiwork away from the Bossman's disapproving gaze. She'd share the final results with McGee later.

* * *

Hand in hand, the couple strolled north to the Belga Café on 8th Street SE, arriving just in time for Tony's 2:15 reservation. He'd requested his favourite corner table, by the window; it would provide some privacy, and he always liked to sit with his back to the wall, ever since his undercover days working the Macaluso case in Baltimore.

They ordered drinks – lemonade for Louisa, San Pelligrino for Tony – and quickly scanned the menu. Tony haunted this restaurant with regularity at lunchtime, and he always opted for the Lamb Burger, with a side order of fries. Louisa chose a spinach salad with oranges and cheese (hold the garlic croutons, please!) in an orange vinaigrette.

She'd agonized for hours over what to wear today. After systematically trying on, then casting off, about 10 different outfits that were, even now, strewn about her bedroom, she despaired that none of them fit properly. 'Sunday best' just didn't seem the right look, and the only other things she had that she would actually be able to get into were jeans, sweats and t-shirts. She'd fallen back on wearing her uniform for today's rendezvous, and resolved to start dieting immediately. (For the first time in years, she actually wanted a body she could show off). The salad fit the bill perfectly. It didn't hurt that it sounded yummy, too.

Lunch orders given and drinks delivered, they could finally relax and have a proper conversation. Taking Louisa's hand, Tony stroked her fingers with his thumb, and gazed at her admiringly. Although he could tell she was excited and pleased to be with him, he also saw a vague sadness in her eyes that demanded further investigation.

"Everything back to normal at work now?"

She bit her lower lip, and lowered her eyes. "I guess."

He squeezed her hand. "What's up?" She shook her head, hoping he'd move on to another topic. But he persisted. "Lou?" With his free hand, he reached over and lifted her chin. Her eyes were glassy and moist, and she sniffled to try to stop the tears from falling.

"Commander Schumacher called me into his office last night, as I was coming off rotation." Tony stiffened, anticipating what she would say next. It was as he had feared. "He's putting a formal reprimand in my file, over that video I sent."

"Oh, Lou, I'm sorry."

"It could've been worse… I could've been up for court martial… and he did say he understood why I did it… but, up until now I had a spotless record…" She began to lose her composure. She pulled her hand away and rummaged around in her purse, hunting for a tissue. Tony pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it to her instead. She took it gratefully and dabbed her eyes. He was Rhett Butler to her Scarlett O'Hara. _Here, take my handkerchief. Never, at any crisis of your life, have I known you to have a handkerchief. _Louisa had done a fair bit of weeping over the past few days, all of it without benefit of a kleenex or a hankie.

"Lou… at some point in everyone's career, they face a situation where they have to choose between doing the right thing, or following the rules. You did the right thing."

How did he know just what to say? She smiled up at him through her tears. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. And so does your Dad. Don't you think he'd have been the first one to tell you otherwise?"

She hadn't thought of it that way, but it did make sense. The Admiral was the most straight-laced, by-the-book officer she'd ever known. If he thought she needed correction, he always gave it, no matter how difficult it was. The fact that he hadn't in this case, spoke volumes.

She felt childish, and embarrassed to have broken down so easily. She quickly pulled herself together, and stuffed the handkerchief in her purse. "I'll wash that before I give it back to you."

"First date, and I've already got you doing my laundry!" Tony quipped. She giggled, and the mood lightened again. Their food arrived just then, and they took a moment to tuck in. As expected, it was delicious.

Tony took a sip of his mineral water, and started off on a new tangent of conversation. "You were quite the renaissance woman in school, weren't you?... cross-country team, language club, computer club..."

She squinted, and gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know all _that_? I'll have to have a word with my brother... blabbing my life story..."

"Hah! First of all, let me reassure you that your brother told me _nothing_. All your secrets are safe with him. Secondly, why is it ok for him to tell _you_ things about _me_, but not tell _me_ things about _you_?"

He had her there. She blushed, and avoided his question. "He told you that I called him?" Tony nodded. "So... if he didn't tell you all that stuff about school, how did you find out?"

"It's what I do, remember? I'm an investigator," he grinned.

"So you did a background check on me..."

"Uh-huh."

"... using NCIS computer equipment..."

"Uh-huh."

"That's an unauthorized use of government resources. Maybe I should tell Agent Gibbs to put a formal reprimand in your file..." She tried her best to keep a straight face, but he could see the cheeky glint in her eyes.

"Oh man, if Gibbs put a note in the file for every non-work-related use of those computers, he'd need a new file cabinet!"

She saw an opportunity to shift the conversation away from herself. "Tell me about your family, Tony. Pete didn't really tell me much – I guess he wanted to make sure we'd have something to talk about."

"Well, on that particular topic, there's not much to tell," he deflected. "Miserable, lonely childhood... wealthy family, or at least it used to be... but I'm cut out of the will anyway, so don't get your hopes up." He winked. "Dad wasn't around much when I was growing up (which may actually have been a blessing, now that I think about it). My Mom died when I was eight."

She detected a change in his tone when he spoke of his mother. She put down her fork, and looked at him earnestly. "That must have been so hard for you. I can't imagine growing up without my Mom."

He swallowed. "Yeah... my Dad never really knew how to deal with me. He left most of the parenting to my Mom. Once she was gone, there was no... buffer... know what I mean?"

She nodded, even though she really couldn't imagine a world where she was not the apple of her father's eye. She took his hand and squeezed it. "What did she look like?"

He pulled his hand away, and reached for his wallet. After riffling through various credit cards and receipts, he came upon a slightly wrinkled photo with frayed edges. The date-stamp on the back read October 23, 1972. Staring at it for a moment, his eyes went wide. He looked up at Louisa, then back down at the photo.

"Wow..."

"What?"

Her curiosity was piqued by his reaction. He handed her the photo. "Who does that look like to you?"

She stared at it in disbelief. "My mother!"

He laughed. "No, silly. It's _you_! Ever since the moment I first saw you, there was something about you that had me captivated. I couldn't put my finger on it. But now it all makes sense." His voice softened. "You remind me so much of her."

Louisa's head was filled with questions. But there was one in particular that she desperately wanted to ask. She sensed there was something especially painful about Tony's memory of his mother, something more than the simple fact of her death. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether it was wise to pry open the wound. But in the end, she couldn't stop herself.

"How did she die, Tony?"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, I know that was cruel - the original plan was for this whole chappie to be the date, from start to finish, but all that other stuff was begging to come out first, so now it's 2 chappies instead. Stay tuned...  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Couldn't make ya wait too long for part 2 of 'The Date'... *smile* The lab scene was a bit of a struggle for me - I had it partially written one way, hit a total wall, then blew it all away and started over in a different direction. Let me know if I got it right, please?**

**Warnings/Spoilers: General spoilers up to & including Season 7**

**Disclaimer: Canon characters belong to DPB, CBS et al. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

_**Thursday, June 3, 2010 2:37 p.m.**_

"How did she die, Tony?"

He should have expected the question; it was the sort of thing Pete would have asked, if he were interested in knowing such things. So… she was a straight shooter, just like her brother.

He hadn't thought about his mother's death for a very long time. Whenever someone asked about her, he usually regaled them with one of the various humiliations to which she'd subjected him (such as the sailor suit travesty), or one of the embarrassing gaffes she'd committed after drinking six or seven mint juleps.

None of those inquiries had ever revealed the fact that, in spite of it all, Tony had loved his mother.

She'd been the one to tuck him into bed at night (never mind the smell of alcohol on her breath). She'd been the one who'd stayed up all night in the rocking chair, holding him in her arms, nursing him through a bad case of tonsillitis when he was four years old. She'd been the one who'd helped him cut little hearts out of folded red construction paper to make his very first valentine, for Amy Huntington, in first grade.

He'd never told anyone about how she used to cry herself to sleep at night. He'd never told anyone about the time she'd gotten in between him and his father, acting as a human shield when Senior, in a drunken rage, had threatened to beat him to within an inch of his life with a belt.

And he'd never told anyone about her death. No one had ever asked. Until now.

"She fell down the stairs and broke her neck. It was a very dramatic exit – _everything_ my mother ever did was dramatic."

Louisa's eyes widened in shock at the flippant comment. But she was perceptive enough to realize that this was Tony's way of deflecting the pain this memory obviously caused. She waited a moment, just to see if he'd share anything more, but his smile told her that was all the information she was going to get out of him, at least for now. His defenses were firmly in place, and she'd just attempted a full-on assault behind the lines. She silently cursed her faux-pas, and beat a hasty retreat.

"I'm so sorry, Tony. It was wrong of me to ask you that."

"No, it wasn't. The whole point of this is to get to know more about each other, right?" She nodded warily. "Ok, so tell me what it was like growing up with Pete."

She rolled her eyes, relieved that he'd shifted the conversation in a new direction. "He was such a terrible tease. Never left me alone. When I was little, his favourite thing was to tickle me until I turned red in the face and went into hysterics. One time, they couldn't get me out of it for about five minutes, and I think I really scared him. He never tickled me again after that. But he found other ways to get me."

Tony was grinning and nodding steadily as she recounted the episode. "I knew there was a reason I liked him. Sounds like something I would've done if I'd had siblings."

"Oh God. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead," she groaned.

He pouted. "Why? You can't tease someone unless you like them. Otherwise it's just being cruel."

"It's a fine line," she fired back, and Tony sensed a visceral undercurrent to her voice.

"Does he push too far sometimes?" he ventured.

She nodded. "Nothing I can't handle, though." And there it was. Just as he had suspected – the trademark Penachetti grit.

"That Concealed Weapon Permit comes in handy, doesn't it?" he joked. She went red, and they both laughed, remembering Gibbs' question to her in interrogation several days ago.

The waitress returned to take their plates. Louisa looked at her watch – _2:53 p.m._

"You'll be late back to work," she remarked. The disappointment in her voice was obvious. The time had gone by so fast, and she didn't want this date to end. Nor did he, but he didn't want to push his luck with Gibbs. He asked for the check.

He took both her hands in his. "When can I see you again?"

She sighed. "This would be so much easier if I could just get on the day shift. I've had my name on the list for over a year. With Jake gone, we're even more short-staffed on evenings... there's no way I'll ever get out of there." She thought for a moment. "My trio is playing a wedding on Saturday night... what about Sunday evening?"

"Your trio?" He went over the layout of her apartment in his mind, and remembered the cello he'd seen standing in a corner of her living room. "So that cello wasn't just for decoration, huh? I'll have to get you to play for me sometime. Ok, let me think... Sunday evening... oh, that'll be game 5 of the Stanley Cup..." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized how bad that sounded. "But I can tape it... " he added lamely.

She tossed her head back and laughed at his discomfort. "I have a better idea. You're gonna be at Pete's, right?"

"Well, that was the plan..."

"Mind if I tag along?"

He looked confused. "Of _course _I don't mind... but that won't be much fun for you..."

She closed one eye and looked up at him under her eyebrows. "You and Pete really are too much alike. You think, because I'm a _girl_, I couldn't _possibly_ be interested in hockey. My name isn't Julia, you know. If the Blackhawks don't win this thing, I'll be mighty pissed."

Tony grinned broadly. "Chicago? I'll have to show you the error of your ways, sweetheart. How about if I pick you up, say around 19:00? We're ordering in pizza and wings."

"Sounds great!" Louisa chirped. She winked at Tony. "Did Pete say you could bring a date?"

"Nope," he replied, wearing his best Cheshire Cat smile.

They ambled back to the Navy Yard arm in arm, stretching the moment out for as long as possible. Arriving back at NCIS Headquarters, Tony drew her aside, out of view of the front doors, and pulled her close. He ran his fingers through her hair, pressing her head gently against his chest and breathing in that wonderful vanilla/apricot scent that seemed to be her trademark. Neither of them wanted to move, but DiNozzo knew that by now Gibbs was probably wearing a hole in the carpet up in the bullpen, and thinking about how hard he could get away with slapping Tony's head without being brought up on assault charges.

He took her face in his hands, and gazed at her. "I'll call you tomorrow. Hope work goes better tonight."

She smiled. "Thank you for lunch – it was absolutely wonderful." She didn't just mean the meal, and Tony knew it.

Another long, delicious kiss followed. As their tongues engaged in reconnaissance, Louisa ran the fingers of her right hand playfully along the edge of Tony's left ear, until he almost couldn't stand it. He quivered and laughed, pulling away and giving her a disapproving look. "Have mercy! I gotta be able to focus when I get back up there. Gibbs gave me a lecture about being 'fully present' in the office..."

"Sorry," she murmured. "I've been waiting a long time for this... a _very_ long time."

As their eyes locked, Tony noted the earnestness in her face, and marveled again that this lovely woman had not been snatched up long ago by some eager young buck. Here he was, pushing 40, with a long, damaged history of romantic liaisons taken up and just as quickly discarded, and yet she'd chosen to be with _him_. It shook him to realize in that moment that he didn't feel deserving of her attentions. She should be able to do so much better.

"I can't imagine why... "

"I'll tell you sometime... " She looked at him wistfully, then quickly pulled away and strode towards the parking lot. Glancing back over her shoulder, she blew him another kiss. He stood there, transfixed, watching her climb into her SUV and drive off, following her with his eyes until she was completely out of sight. What had she meant by that? She made it sound as if being a bachelorette had been a deliberate choice...

Giving himself a shake, he pulled on the mantle of Professional Tony, and strode back into HQ, determined to finish his report on the Halpern murder before leaving the office tonight.

* * *

_**2:27 p.m.**_

Ziva headed down to the forensics lab, intending to check on Abby's progress with processing the items she'd recovered from Jacob Halpern's apartment. If Tony was going to be seeing the Petty Officer on a regular basis, she reasoned, he'd be able to deliver the items to her once all the necessary evidence had been lifted from them.

She always found Abby's music to be annoying at best, and intolerable at worst. Steeling herself, she strode into the lab, and stopped dead in her tracks, as she beheld the image of Tony and Louisa, fully displayed on the main plasma screen. But Abby had not distorted it as she had originally planned. Rather, she sat studying it, chin in her beggar's-gloved hands.

The Goth sensed Ziva's presence, and spun around in her chair, taking a sip of her Caf-Pow and smiling broadly. She motioned back at the screen. "There's something different about this one."

"Yes. This woman is very special to him."

Abby sensed that Ziva had information that she was lacking. If Tony had genuinely found love, she needed to know all about it. "C'mon Ziva, _spill!_"

Ziva shrugged her shoulders. "There is nothing more to tell. Louisa is nothing like any of his previous girlfriends; she's not even much to look at. But his feelings for her _are_ genuine."

"But how do you _know_ that, Ziva?" Abby pressed.

"He told me so," she admitted.

"He _told_ you so?" She jumped up and circled around her chair, chopping the air with her hands as she squawked, "Wait. This is _Tony _we're talking about here. Tony only _talks_ about his relationships when they're _not _serious."

"As you said, this one is different." Abby took a deep breath, but Ziva steamrolled her before she had a chance to respond, and held up her hand. "He will tell us more when he's ready."

The Goth closed her mouth and squeezed her eyes tight. "Right. Ok. Just… _promise_ me, if you hear something, you'll _tell_ me right away. I'm always the last one to know." Ziva nodded. Abby glanced back at the photo on the plasma and muttered, "I really, _really_ hope she's the one. He _so_ deserves to be happy." She cocked her head, and tried to imagine Tony as a contented family man.

She didn't see the momentary flicker of melancholy in Ziva's eyes.

"Abby, I really came down here to see if you were finished processing that hairbrush and the other items I brought in from Halpern's apartment."

"Oh, yeah. I took them back down to the evidence locker yesterday. All of the items had Halpern's prints on them. My guess is, they were his little trophies. He was probably trying to mess with Louisa's head, by systematically stealing her stuff. I had this boyfriend once - "

Ziva didn't wait for her to tell her story. "So the hairs we found likely weren't planted by Noreen Jessop… if they had been, the top set of prints on the hairbrush would have appeared to be the Petty Officer's herself, from the latex fingertips Jessop used…" Ziva contemplated this new evidence in light of everything else they knew about Halpern's murder.

"Any hits on the BOLO?" Abby inquired.

"None. There are two possibilities… either she is long gone and safely back in Israel, or…"

"Or, she's lying in wait for her next assignment." Gibbs entered the lab, handing a fresh Caf-Pow to Abby. "I've got a theory about that, Ziva." The former Mossad agent raised an eyebrow, inviting Gibbs to elaborate. "I'm putting a protection detail on you, effective immediately."

Abby's eyes went wide as she realized what Gibbs was implying. "You think she's after Ziva?"

"Think about it. Jessop must've known NCIS would be called in to investigate the transmission and the murder. She didn't make much of an effort to hide her tracks – took us less than 24 hours to figure out she was responsible. She would've known Ziva would be on the investigating team. And she would know that as a former Mossad agent herself, Ziva'd be the one most anxious to track her down."

"But she could not engage in an operation like this without orders from higher up…" as Ziva thought out loud, a horrible realization came over her. "My father… he ordered her to neutralize me."

"Neutralize? You mean _kill_, Ziva! Gibbs, this is _awful_!" Abby wailed.

Gibbs nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. And that's why I'm assigning DiNozzo to lead the protection detail, as soon as he gets back."

Ziva was indignant. "I do _not_ need protection. I can take care of myself."

"This isn't a debate, David. As soon as Tony gets back, go with him to your apartment and pick up what you need. You'll be staying at one of our safe houses for the next while, until Jessop surfaces."

Abby gave Ziva a too-tight, too-long hug. "Be _careful_, Ziva! Do as Gibbs says, he's always right about these things."

The former Israeli rolled her eyes. "Very well. But this is a waste of NCIS resources. Assuming we are right about her plans, Jessop will not make a move as long as she sees a security detail around me. This could be a very long stalemate."

"That's ok, Zivers. We'll talk about how to set the bait later. Right now, I need to know someone's on your six at all times."

* * *

**A/N: Ok, this last bit was originally supposed to come much later in the story, so I have no more idea what's going to happen next than you do. Guess we'll find out, huh? *smile***


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm on vacation, and the muse is particularly helpful at the moment, so you're getting spoiled with yet another chapter! Don't get used to it...LOL For those of you who are TIVA shippers...there's a little something special for ya (thought probably not what you're hoping for...*ducking*)**

**Warning: Spoilers through Season 7, especially Truth & Consequences**

**Disclaimer: Canon characters belong to DPB, CBS & Co. No copyright infringement intended.**

**

* * *

**_**Thursday, June 3, 2010 5:47 p.m.**_

The protection detail gathered in the conference room, Tony systematically assigning each member their appointed tasks. Another Major Case Response Team, led by Supervisory Special Agent Mark Granich, would join forces with Team Gibbs on a 12-hour on/off, mixed rotation. Ziva was uncomfortable being the centre of all this attention, and leaned against the wall at the back of the room, as McGee, Gibbs, and Granich conferred with Special Agents Don Travis, Devon Stewart and Karen Mitchinson. Also joining them was Special Agent Daria Levant, on loan from the Behavioral Sciences Unit.

A layout of Ziva's apartment was displayed on a large plasma screen at the head of the table. Ziva had staunchly refused to go to the safe house, insisting that their best bet to get Noreen Jessop to play her hand was to make it appear they'd underestimated her. Gibbs had put up a good fight, but in the end deferred to Tony, who'd taken Ziva's side. The SFA made the point that Louisa wanted closure on this whole episode as quickly as possible, and the longer they let Jessop sit in quiet anonymity, the more difficult it would be to smoke her out.

Earwigs were handed out, communication protocols determined, rotations and responsibilities assigned, and watches synchronized. One member of the on-duty team would be stationed in a vehicle parked down the street, and would take hourly check-ins from each of the other team members. One agent would be stationed outside Ziva's apartment door on the 4th floor; one at the back of the building, below her kitchen window; and one would be inside the apartment with her. Ideally, the first two agents would be able to take out Jessop before she ever got inside, if necessary calling on the one in the vehicle for backup.

The first rotation was to start at 19:00 this evening. McGee would be the point man in the vehicle, with Travis at the back of the building and Stewart at Ziva's door. Tony would be in the apartment. At 07:00 they would switch off. Levant would take the car, Gibbs would be inside, Granich outside the door and Mitchinson at the back.

Tony had resigned himself to the fact that his report for Gibbs wasn't going to get written any time soon. But then, if this thing played out the way he hoped it would, it would make for a nice little epilogue to that report, and he could tie it up with a nice big bow.

Of course, the whole thing was speculation. They had no proof that Jessop was even still in the country. But Vance's attempts to get Eli to cough up any information had been fruitless, with the Mossad Director denying she'd ever been in the United States in the first place. That had raised Gibbs' hackles, and Tony's too. They had concrete, physical evidence placing Jessop in Halpern's apartment, as well as video footage confirming her presence at the gun club. It was simply galling to think that Eli would lie to their faces when confronted with the facts. Unfortunately, it also lent credence to Gibbs' theory, so they were taking no chances.

At 18:20, Tony escorted Ziva to his car. McGee would drive Ziva's Mini back to her apartment, while Travis and Stewart took a Dodge Charger from the fleet. She sat pouting in the passenger seat of Tony's Mustang, without saying a word. Tony couldn't help comparing her demeanor with that of Louisa two days ago, gleefully soaking in the fun of riding in the sporty soft-top.

He tried to lighten the mood. "Cheer up, Ninja-chick, at least you get a few days off outta this."

She shot him a withering glare. "The sooner this is over with, the better. I do not like having my privacy invaded."

"Yeah? Well, I don't like having my personal plans disrupted either, sweet cheeks, so how about showing a little appreciation, huh?" he fired back, annoyed at her insensitivity to the sacrifices being made by those around her.

"I did not ask for this. Do not blame me for disrupting your 'personal plans', Tony," she seethed.

Tony rolled his eyes. "I can see it's gonna be a long night."

The continued the rest of the way in stony silence.

* * *

_**6:15 p.m.**_

Ducky and Jimmy Palmer were in the process of shutting down the autopsy bay for the night, when Abby appeared in their doorway, looking downcast and nervous. She was without her white lab coat, and had a large red plastic purse slung over her shoulder; obviously, she was on her way home as well.

"Abigail! What can I do for you at this late hour?" Ducky asked, hat in hand and trench slung over his arm.

"Ducky? I'm having one of those really awful premonitions... you know, like the one I had when Kate died...?"

The ME put his hat and coat back on the rack, and took Abby's hand. "Come now, my dear, Ziva is being protected by our very best. If anyone can ensure her safety, they can."

"But what if that evil bitch turns out to be just as good as Ziva?" Abby was wound up like a top. Jimmy wondered to himself how much of this was her natural personality, and how much the ten or so Caf-Pows she drank in a typical day. "You know, Ziva could take out _all_ those guys. _Together_."

Jimmy blurted, "Well, then, wouldn't that mean that together, they could _all_ take out Jessop?"

"Yes. Very insightful, Mr. Palmer," Ducky intoned. "I wouldn't worry yourself if I were you, Abby. Our colleague is in excellent hands." He patted her gently on the arm, retrieved his coat and hat once more, and turned off the lights. The two men gently led their worried friend to the elevator.

Abby knew it would do no good to continue her protest. But by her saucer-sized brown eyes and the way she clutched her purse, both Jimmy and Ducky knew the goth was not convinced. They also knew there was nothing they could say or do to make her feel better. But one thing Palmer _did_ know – there was one thing even worse than worrying, and that was worrying and being alone.

"You hungry, Abby? I could sure go for a burger right now."

_Bless you, Jimmy._ "Yeah! That sounds great. Ducky, wanna come along?"

"Thank you for the invitation, but I have a previous engagement. I'll see you in the morning." He tipped his hat at the pair, and sauntered off towards his classic restored Morgan, lovingly parked in a corner spot of the garage, on an angle, to reduce the likelihood of sideswipes from other car doors.

Abby and Jimmy exchanged curious glances, both wondering who Ducky might be meeting for dinner this evening, and wishing they could be a fly on the wall to see how this elegant gentleman comported himself on a date (because both were absolutely certain that was what this was). By the time this evening was through, they'd have the ME's love life all figured out, and Palmer would have, at least temporarily, managed to take Abby's mind off her worries.

* * *

_**10:19 p.m.**_

A little over three hours into the first rotation, and already Tony was bored out of his skull. Minding Ziva was like guarding a pet rock – it didn't matter what he said or did, he got no response. He sat in the living room, perusing one of about six issues of Sports Illustrated that he'd brought with him for the night. He knew from previous visits to Ziva's apartment that her taste in reading material was very different from his.

He could hear the sound of cupboards slamming in the en suite bathroom, then running water. She was taking a shower. A week ago, the thought of being in Ziva's apartment, just feet away from her naked body under hot water jets, would have been almost too much for him. But now, he felt almost nothing. _Almost_. There was still a little twinge there, he had to admit. It was ironic... despite the fact that he'd been undercover with her more than once, posing as a couple, he'd always been too polite to actually _look_, when he could actually have gotten away with it.

But as much as he could admire a beautiful feminine form, what had his curiosity this evening was Ziva's scars.

There was nothing really noticeable when she was clothed, though he'd observed that she now avoided lower-cut blouses and seemed to prefer longer sleeves. But given the little bit that he knew about what she had endured in Somalia, he was certain the history of that experience was written all over her body. He wanted to read that history. He'd shared in it, after all – they all had. She wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for them... if it weren't for Gibbs.

And now, here they were again. History was repeating itself. Ziva in peril. The cavalry coming to the rescue. Ziva indifferent, resentful even. Did she have a death wish? Or was she really that egotistical that she thought she could take on another Mossad agent bent on killing her, without assistance?

They really didn't even know if Jessop would be acting alone, he thought to himself ruefully. They were taking a calculated risk. If she had accomplices, they might find themselves out-gunned, out-manned, or both.

"I think Magnum P.I. is on." The voice startled him, and he glanced over his shoulder, to see Ziva standing in a pale blue silk bathrobe, her long black tresses hanging damp and stringy about her face. She looked small and weak, but Tony knew well that was just an illusion.

"Thanks." They were the first civilized words the pair had exchanged since they left the Navy Yard. She disappeared into the bedroom, and that, Tony decided, was that. He picked up the remote, and started channel-surfing, coming upon a great Magnum episode involving Rick and the Mafia and the King Kamehameha Club. It brought back memories of his days in Baltimore, rubbing shoulders with the Macalusos, and he settled down happily to watch. He turned off the sound and activated the closed-captions, so he could continue listening for any unexpected noises.

"I am not ungrateful, you know." He wasn't expecting her to continue the conversation. She came over and sat beside him on the sofa, tucking one leg under her. Her robe lay partially open, suggestively, and he wondered if that was deliberate. He shut off the TV and slid sideways to face her. "I am simply used to taking care of myself."

"Like you did in Somalia." She bit her lip. "Ziva, I know Mossad trained you to be independent and self-sufficient. But that shouldn't be your default setting. That's something you fall back on when there's no other choice. You have teammates who care about what happens to you. People who are willing to risk their lives to protect you. If you keep shutting them out, at some point they might not be there when you really need them."

Her eyes were glassy, and he had her in that vulnerable place where she might actually be willing to talk. "I did not mean to shut you out." She sidled closer to him, and the bottom of her robe slid open a bit further, revealing a nasty, round scar on her upper thigh (in pretty much the same spot where Halpern's Mossad tattoo had been, Tony noted). He couldn't help himself – he reached out and gently touched it with his forefinger. She laid her hand on top of his, and pressed his palm against her thigh. He looked up at her in surprise, but didn't move his hand away.

"What did they do to you, Ziva?" he whispered.

"It is difficult..." she began. Their eyes met, and she saw nothing but compassion in his face. It gave her the strength to continue, and over the next hour, the words tumbled from her lips in a torrent. She'd held it all in for so long; it felt good to finally share those intimate details with the man she trusted more than any other (except, perhaps, Gibbs). He didn't interrupt. He sat quietly, hanging on her every word, wincing occasionally when a particularly cruel detail emerged. By the time it was over, she was lying with her head on his chest, sobbing into his shirt, thoroughly spent from the effort of dredging up the memories that, even now, haunted her dreams almost every night.

He could tell she was exhausted, and sliding off the sofa, he lifted her gently in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, pulling back the covers and tucking her in.

"Tony..."

He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. "Go to sleep, Ziva. I'll be right outside if you need anything."

"Tony..." She held out her arms to him, hooking her hand around his neck and pulling him close. "You will not share those things with anyone...?" she asked fearfully.

He shook his head. "Never. It stays between us. You needed to tell _someone_... I'm glad it was me." He kissed her forehead, turned off the bedside lamp, and padded back out to the living room.

"McGee, this is Tony, checking in. All clear."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: A slightly shorter chapter this time, but very pivotal to the story, as you'll see. *smile***

**Warnings: Spoilers through Season 7, as usual.**

**Disclaimer: Canon characters belong to DPB, CBS & Company. No copyright infringement intended.**

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* * *

**_**Friday, June 4, 2010 7:00 a.m.**_

The first shift ended, without incident. At 07:00, Gibbs arrived to relieve Tony, who was looking forward to crawling into his bed and crashing for a few hours. These all-nighters really took their toll nowadays, and it had been only through sheer adrenaline, combined with copious amounts of Ziva's turkish coffee, that he'd managed to keep his eyelids open until his boss got there.

He drove home slowly, carefully, acutely aware that his reflexes were not at their sharpest in his current drowsy state. Making his way from the front door to the bedroom, he peeled off articles of clothing as he went, leaving behind a suggestive trail that would have sent all the wrong signals if someone had walked in after him. He flopped face-down on the bed, without even bothering to pull down the sheet, still in his socks and boxers.

But as exhausted as he was, he found he couldn't get to sleep. There was too much damned light. How the hell did Louisa do it? Even with the blind pulled right down and a sheet thrown over it for good measure, the sun still managed to force its way through. He pulled the pillow over his head, and cursed. After tossing and turning for another half hour, he gave up, padded into the bathroom, and downed a sleeping pill. He didn't dare take more than one, lest it work too well and cause him to sleep through his alarm, which he'd set for 1:00 p.m. so he could call Louisa as he'd promised.

* * *

_**3:45 p.m.**_

"_This is Tony. I'm obviously doing something really important, otherwise I'd answer the phone. Leave a message, I'll call you." Beep._

The phone had rung six times before the machine kicked in. Tony was out cold.

"_Tony? It's Louisa. I tried your cell just now – maybe it's off? Anyway, I left you a message at work too...just thought I'd try here in case you went home early...guess you're really busy. I know you said you'd call, but I baked you some cookies, and I thought I'd just drop them off for you. So, anyway, I'll see you in about an hour, ok? Oh, wait...you're at work, so you won't hear this...never mind...Ugh! I'm not normally this much of a bubblehead...honest! Miss you!" Click._

* * *

_**4:53 pm.**_

The Team Gibbs bullpen was deserted when Jimmy Palmer snuck upstairs and slid into Tony's chair. He'd heard McGee raving about the new Mafia Boss video game he'd installed on his PC, and decided this would be an ideal time to try it, with everyone either camped out at Ziva's apartment or at home catching a few zzz's. Ducky was in court this afternoon and wouldn't be back, and Jimmy had already finished re-stocking the autopsy shelves, so he had time on his hands.

He was just getting the hang of how to aim the gangster's AK-47 in the right direction, when an unexpected youthful female voice made him jump nearly out of his skin.

"Excuse me. Is Tony around?" He spun around, and saw the top of a short, rosy-cheeked woman with curly brown hair peering over the partition next to DiNozzo's desk. This must be Tony's new girlfriend – he recognized her from the photos that had made the rounds through the office.

"Uh, no ma'am. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh." She looked puzzled to learn that Tony wasn't there. Jimmy wondered why. "Well, can you tell me where he is?"

"He's at Special Agent Ziva David's apartment." Palmer did not know the rotation, and had naturally made the assumption that Tony had taken the day shift.

"Oh." She sounded a bit taken aback by the news. Jimmy wondered why. "Well, can I have the address? I have a little something I wanted to deliver to him, in person."

"Uh, probably not a good idea for you to go over there right now, ma'am," he cautioned.

"Oh." Her face went ashen. Jimmy wondered why. "I'll... just... leave this on his desk, then." She came around the partition and glanced around the bullpen. "Which is it?"

"That one, ma'am." Jimmy pointed across the bullpen. "I'll make sure he gets it."

"Thank you." She gently set the silver cookie tin on the edge of Tony's desk, and quickly strode back towards the elevator. Jimmy saw her put her hand over her mouth, fighting back a little gasp of distress as the elevator doors closed. He wondered why.

* * *

By some miracle, Louisa was able to hold it together until she got into the driver's seat of her Ford Explorer. She sat ramrod straight, staring out at the Navy ships on the Anacostia River, fully expecting the floodgates of tears to open once more. But there was nothing. She simply felt cold. Empty. And incredibly foolish.

How could she have been so naïve as to presume that Tony could be a one-woman man? After everything Pete had told her about him, it should not have come as a surprise that he would head over to his partner's apartment for a bit of action. Still, it had.

She had really believed that they had the beginnings of something special. She had really believed he was not the playboy Pete made him out to be. She had actually dared to believe that he might be falling in love with her. Because she was falling in love with him. And that made this just that much worse.

But she couldn't cry – not yet. All she could feel at the moment was a seething anger. She couldn't really tell whether it was anger at Tony, or at herself. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. She'd been right to keep to herself all these years, she decided. She'd been smart to stay single, and not bother with men. You really couldn't trust them; they really were all the same, after all. One brief lapse, and she'd allowed herself to be played. She'd proven her own theory. It was time for life to get back to normal.

She put the SUV in gear, and spun out of the parking lot in a fury.

* * *

_**8:23 p.m.**_

Tony sat in front of Ziva's meagre 36" TV set, watching Game 4 of the Stanley Cup in sullen silence.

He'd wakened up at something after 4 p.m., feeling groggy and not much more rested than when he'd got home. As soon as he realized the time, he'd called Louisa in a panic. No answer. _Stupid, she's at work._ He'd called her cell (NSA frowned on personal use of their phone system). No answer. He'd padded out to the kitchen to make some coffee, and had seen the message light on the answering machine. After listening to it, he'd chuckled to himself, and tried her cell once more. Still no answer.

And so it had gone, all afternoon. In all, he'd made 8 attempts to reach her, all to no avail. She didn't have voice-mail on her cell phone, so he'd finally tried her office number, around 6 p.m. When she didn't pick up there either, he'd left her a pathetic message, and given up for the evening.

"_Louisa, it's me. I'm __sorry__! I overslept. I didn't forget you, __honest__. Please call me back, ok, hon?" _

8:23 p.m. And still nothing. Could she really be _that_ pissed, just because he'd been late with a phone call? It wasn't the sort of thing that would have bothered Pete much, but then again, she wasn't Pete, and he had to admit, they were only just getting acquainted. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact, because Tony DiNozzo had never fallen so hard, so fast, for a woman in his life.

With each successive attempt at contact, his stomach had tightened just a bit more. If he'd screwed this thing up, he'd never forgive himself.

Then again, did he really want to be with a woman who was _that_ hypersensitive? _No_.

Back and forth he went, playing it over in his mind. Was it a blessing in disguise, that he'd found out this early how temperamental she was? Maybe. But then again, Pete had warned him she wasn't very confident with men, so maybe she'd misinterpreted the missed phone call as a sign she was being dumped? Pete's words echoed in his mind..._Just do me one favour, would ya?...Don't break her heart._

He felt sick.

But there was nothing he could do about it tonight. He was stuck here, babysitting. Missing out on cheese doodles, beer, and 58" of High-Def hockey heaven.

Ziva trotted into the living room, carrying a tray bearing a pot of tea with two mugs, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. He took the offering gratefully. His charge was at least trying to be nice, even if there wasn't much conversation. She settled down in a corner chair with a book, and they spent the rest of the evening in silence. Philly won, 5 to 3. Louisa would be pissed about _that_ as well. He sighed.

* * *

_**Saturday, June 5, 2010 7:34 p.m.**_

Ducky, Jimmy and Abby arrived at Ziva's apartment, for a movie night - with that many people present, there was little likelihood Jessop would strike. Jimmy had brought along several varieties of soft drinks, and Abby had contributed a club-pack of artery-clogging Extra-Butter Microwave Kettle Corn. Tony had arranged for a double-feature that would keep them occupied well into the night (and keep his mind off the fact that he still hadn't heard from Louisa).

He popped the first DVD in, and intoned in his best British accent, "_A Night To Remember._ Released in 1958. Directed by Roy Ward Baker. Starring Kenneth More and Anthony Bushell. Introducing David McCallum as Assistant Wireless Operator Harold Bride." He switched to his normal voice. "D'you remember him in The Man From U.N.C.L.E.? I used to _love_ that show!"

"Isn't that a bit before your time, Anthony?" Ducky queried.

"Yeah, but it was on in re-runs. I used to watch it every day after school. Right before Magnum," he recalled fondly. "Illya Kuryakin was _great_."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I suppose that is where you picked up your 'extraordinary' undercover skills, yes?"

"I make no apologies for borrowing from the best, Ziva," Tony responded, completely deadpan. "You could learn a lot from those Soviets."

Abby bounded in from the kitchen carrying a giant bowl of popcorn. Jimmy followed behind with a tray bearing everyone's drink order: Coke for Tony and himself, 7-up for Ducky and Ziva, Dr. Pepper for Abby.

Tony insisted on turning off all the lights, except for one small table lamp – to get the 'ambiance' right, he said. The second film, James Cameron's Titanic, would take them well past midnight.

Every hour, Tony paused the machine for a moment. "McGee, this is Tony, checking in. All clear."

* * *

**A/N: Don't hit me - please... *insert evil smile here***


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I will be_ persona non grata_ after this one. But that's ok - I have broad shoulders. Just don't give up on me, folks. There is a Master Plan. *evil laugh***

**Warnings/Spoilers: The Usual.**

**Disclaimer: Ditto.**

* * *

_**Sunday, June 6, 2010 1:32 a.m.**_

Abby and Jimmy had finally made their exit. Ducky had left after the first feature, around 9:30 p.m. – everyone suspected he wasn't going straight home, but no-one dared to ask. Alone at last, Ziva could finally ask Tony the question she'd been mulling over in her mind all evening.

"Something is bothering you, and it is not this assignment. What's wrong, Tony?"

"It's nothing," he muttered under his breath, as he popped the DVD back in its case and scanned the living room for anything still out of place.

"Bullshit." Ziva put her hands on her hips and stood stock-still, forcing Tony to engage her. "You obviously need to talk, so do not try to avoid it." He stood up and stared at her blankly. "Something has gone wrong between you and Louisa, yes?"

DiNozzo picked up several empty glasses and headed for the kitchen. "I dunno. I'll never understand women."

Ziva smirked, following behind him. "_You_...will never understand women? I thought you had us all figured out."

"So did I."

Ziva took the glasses out of Tony's hands and placed them in the sink. "Sit." She pointed to the kitchen table. He was trapped. Any other time, he'd never subject himself to interrogation like this, but until Gibbs showed up at 07:00, he couldn't leave, and Ziva wasn't about to let this go. Perhaps it was just as well – maybe she'd have some insight that could help him fix this. He pulled out a chair and sank down heavily. "Talk."

He looked askance at her. "Nothing much to talk about. She's not answering my phone calls. She's pissed off... I was supposed to call her at one o'clock on Friday. I overslept. Haven't heard from her since."

Ziva furrowed her brow. "There must be more to it than that."

"Nope." He looked truly morose. "She hasn't dated much. I think she decided I was dumping her."

There was a long silence, as his partner sized up the situation. "She was never right for you anyway, Tony." Instantly, he tensed up. There was that firmly-set jaw again, the fire in his eyes. But he needed to hear this, Ziva decided. "Think about it. She is Catholic, yes?"

He nodded. "So am I. What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

Ziva laughed. "When was the last time _you_ darkened the door of a church?" She did not bother waiting for his answer. "She will never be intimate with you." She couldn't tell whether the look he gave her was one of dumbfounded shock or blinding rage. Either way, she couldn't stop now. "Not until you put a ring on her finger. And _that_ will never happen, because you are not the marrying kind."

It was a line of reasoning he hadn't considered. He hated to admit it, but Ziva could very well be right. Louisa was a devout Catholic. If they continued seeing each other, sooner or later he'd want to make love with her. And the odds were about 100% that she'd say no. Then what? Was he prepared to wait for her?

He had to challenge her on one point, though. "Who says I'm not the marrying kind?"

"I have never known you to keep a relationship going longer than a few weeks at most. You cannot count Jeanne – breaking up with her was not an option available to you. Admit it - you get cold feet as soon as things begin to get serious."

He rested his chin in his hands, and stared off into space. "Ok, I'll grant you, the idea of spending my entire life with one person does kind of scare me. But then I look at my buddy Pete, and I find myself envying him, and I wonder, would it be so bad? Every night, he goes home, he knows there's someone waiting for him - someone who loves him, and takes care of him. Kids who worship the ground he walks on. He's got stability... security. What have I got? Kraft Dinner, Letterman, and an empty apartment."

"So... the reports of your active love life were greatly exaggerated." He rolled his eyes. She hadn't intended it, but she found herself actually feeling sorry for him. "You are lonely." The surprise in her voice was not lost on him.

"Yeah, I guess I am, sometimes."

"I have never pictured you as a 'family man'."

"Neither have I, believe me. But the idea's starting to appeal to me, I have to admit. I never had that when I was growing up, y'know? It wasn't exactly a 'normal' household. About as far removed from 'Leave it to Beaver' as you can get." He glanced at his watch - 2:03 a.m. "McGee, this is Tony. All clear."

"Is that what you want? 'Leave it to Beaver'?" Ziva chortled.

He shook his head vigorously. "No, no! I'm not dumb enough to think _that_ world really exists. I've seen enough of Pete & Julia's life to know what it's really all about. But there's gotta be something better than what I've got now... which is a whole lotta nothin'... Why the hell am I telling you all this, anyway?" He got up from his chair and threw his arms in the air.

Then he froze, holding up one finger to his lips and concentrating on the silence that abruptly enveloped the apartment. Although she hadn't heard anything, Ziva trusted Tony's instincts. Slowly, she reached for a butcher's knife and grasped it in her fist, blade facing down. Tony drew his weapon, and made his way stealthily towards the door leading to the living room.

Then she heard it. The soft creak of a floor board. Stewart was supposed to be watching the front door. He would not have entered the apartment without announcing himself. It could mean only one thing. Noreen Jessop was making her move, and Stewart must be in trouble.

Ziva sidled back to the kitchen window, intending to alert Travis. She slid the window open and poked her head out. All she could see was a pair of legs emerging from the bushes... Travis was either unconscious or dead, lying face-down in the grass. She closed the window again and made a slicing motion across her neck, telling Tony that Travis was out of commission. She glanced at the clock – 2:05 a.m. The question was, had Travis checked in with McGee as expected? If not, Tim would make a move to investigate. But if he had, McGee would be blissfully unaware that there was a problem, and they would be on their own. She could not see Tim from this vantage point, nor could he see her, so there was no way to alert him.

She could not leave her partner alone with Jessop. There was only one course of action left open to them. In complete silence, each signaled to the other their intended move. Hand signals, head nods and eye movements all spoke volumes, as they got into position. With his back against the wall, to the left of the doorway, Tony extended his Sig in front of him, knees bent, braced and ready to fire. Ziva took the right side of the doorway. DiNozzo nodded to her, and in a single, explosive move, she kicked open the door. Tony swung around into the living room, sweeping his aim from one side to the other, and found... nothing.

He motioned to Ziva to stay put, as he began working the perimeter of the room, hugging the wall as he went. It took every ounce of her willpower not to mirror his movements in the other direction, but a butcher's knife was no match for a gun, and they had to assume Jessop was packing heat. She was in no position to go on the offensive.

He got all the way around the room, past the powder room, and up to the front door. Nothing. Had they imagined it? Were they hearing things?

Tony decided to check on Stewart. He moved to the other side of the door, and opened it, just a crack.

Ziva gasped as her partner sank to the floor. Jessop's weapon bore a silencer – the only sound had been a muted thud. The blonde assassin climbed over Tony's limp form and quickly scanned the living room. Ziva flattened herself against the kitchen wall. All she could do now was wait for her would-be killer to approach, and hope she could maintain the element of surprise.

* * *

_**2:05 a.m.**_

"Travis, this is McGee. Report."

Silence.

"Travis?"

Silence.

"Stewart – report."

Silence.

"Stewart..._report_."

Silence.

"Tony – it's Tim. No report from Stewart or Travis. What's your status?

Silence.

"_Tony – come in!_"

Tim activated his com link to NCIS Headquarters.

"This is Gibbs. Go ahead."

"Boss, this is McGee. We have a situation. Requesting backup. I'm going in."

"Tim, wait for assistance!"

"No time, Boss."

* * *

McGee pulled the building key from his jacket pocket and entered the lobby. He drew his Sig from its holster and took the stairs two at a time, all the way up to the fourth floor. Once there, he stopped a moment to catch his breath, and opened the fire door just a crack to peer down the corridor. He saw what looked like a body, lying just outside Ziva's apartment; her front door was ajar.

He could hear Gibbs' voice in his head, telling him to stay put. He also knew that, were he in Tim's position, Gibbs would do nothing of the sort. Six years of working at Tony's side had given McGee a mature confidence, and calm descended on him as he assessed the situation. He wore a Kevlar vest under his nylon jacket, as did every member of the team. He had to trust that it would be enough to protect against whatever weapon Jessop might be carrying. He inched his way forward, his weapon firmly grasped in both hands, approaching the doorway. Peering forward, he caught a glimpse of another body, just inside the door. His heart sank, as he realized it must be Tony. There was no time to lose – Ziva was in grave danger, if she was even still alive. If he was too late to save her, at least he could try to take out Jessop before she managed to escape.

He made his move quickly, stepping over Stewart's body and thrusting the door open. Jessop was in a brawl with Ziva, the two of them struggling over a Beretta .22-calibre pistol bearing a silencer. A kitchen knife lay on the floor, out of reach. It appeared to have blood on it - McGee couldn't tell whose. The would-be assassin muttered something in Hebrew, and thrust her knee into Ziva's chest, winding her and causing her to fall back against the sofa, but Ziva didn't let go of the gun.

"_Federal Agent! Let go of the weapon!" _McGee called out. Jessop ignored the voice behind her, and with Ziva off-balance, she managed to wrestle the Beretta out of her hand. Ziva kicked her in the shin, and she winced, but still she was able to spin around and fire off several rounds at Tim. He took a direct hit in the chest, and although his Kevlar vest did its job in preventing the bullet from penetrating his body, the force of the shot drove him back against the wall, and he slunk to the ground in shock.

Jessop turned back towards Ziva, aimed the gun directly at her head... and fired.

Just as quickly, another shot rang out. Noreen Jessop fell forward to the floor, eyes wide open, still clutching the Beretta in her right hand.

Tony groaned, and slumped back down to the floor, fingers loosening around the handle of his Sig as he lost consciousness.

McGee pulled himself together, and activated his com link. _"This is McGee, requesting immediate assistance. Target neutralized. Agents Down!"_

_

* * *

_**A/N: This is my first fight scene ever in fanfic (well, in writing, period - yes, I'm a virgin). *smile* Is it at least slightly believable? Or unbelievably stupid? Feel free to tell me, either way.**_  
_


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Ok, I admit it, I'm a terrible tease. So sue me. All you TIVA fans out there will now forgive me, I hope? LOL For those of you who are not familiar with the terminology used in this chapter: the narthex is the rear of a church, and the chancel is the front, just before the altar.**

**Warnings/Spoilers: The Usual**

**Disclaimer: The Usual**

* * *

_**Sunday, June 6, 2010 2:06 a.m.**_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs cursed under his breath as the phone went dead in his ear. He made a mental note to stop hiring agents who were so much like himself, picked up his gear and ran to the elevator. He called Supervisory Agent Granich's team into action for backup, and then 9-1-1 for EMS support (he knew they'd need it – given the very brief sit-rep McGee had provided, he deduced they had at least two agents injured, possibly dead).

Gibbs' time to Ziva's apartment was a personal best, under 12 minutes; even so, Granich somehow managed to beat him there. Levant pulled in at the same time as Gibbs, and Mitchinson was right behind her. Granich handed out the Kevlar vests without a word, and the team quickly suited up and readied themselves. Without a key to get in the building, and with no time to lose, Granich simply shot out the door handle, and they raced up the stairs. Gibbs took point, followed by Mitchinson, then Levant. Granich brought up the rear.

They came upon much the same scene that McGee had encountered. Stewart's body lay face-down in the hallway outside the door. As they approached, they could hear McGee inside the apartment, barking orders.

"Ziva, get me a blanket. And a couple of pillows. Tony, stay with me… (muffled voices)… no, she's ok."

Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief – DiNozzo and David were still alive, and it sounded like Tim had things under control. But just in case, he swung into the room, his Sig extended out in front of him.

"Boss! All clear!"

Gibbs lowered his weapon, and knelt next to Tim, who sat on the floor just inside the doorway with Tony's head in his lap and his hand firmly pressed against his partner's right shoulder.

"He's going into shock," Tim reported, as Ziva ran back from the bedroom hallway with pillows and blankets as instructed. "He took a bullet – looks like it might've hit the clavicle. I can't see an exit wound."

Ziva elevated Tony's legs with the pillows, and gently laid the blanket over him. "He saved my life," she whispered, in awe. "Jessop's weapon jammed. If Tony had not fired when he did, her next shot would have blown my head off. I could not move – she knocked the breath right out of me."

Granich had ordered Mitchinson and Levant to check on their two teammates – both were dead. It was Levant's first exposure to such gruesomeness, and she went weak at the knees. Mitchinson tended to her as Granich got on his cell and called for Ducky and Palmer. No-one bothered about Jessop - they would look after their own first. Ziva quietly fetched two more blankets so they could cover the agents' bodies until the ME and his assistant arrived.

Tim loosened Tony's clothing and took off his shoes. The injured SFA was sweating profusely, and his breathing was shallow and rapid. He faded in and out of consciousness, picking up only snippets of the conversation going on around him.

"How the hell did he manage to fire that shot?" Gibbs wondered in amazement. "I don't see how he could've even moved his arm, in this condition."

"Boss?"

"Hang in there, Tony. EMS are on their way, I can hear the sirens now." Gibbs took Tony's hand and gave it a squeeze. He needed to keep his agent conscious until the paramedics could tend to him. "Gimme a sit-rep, DiNozzo."

"Travis... down... maybe dead. Heard a noise... thought... inside... nothing there. Stewart..." he grimaced as a wave of pain overcame him.

"Easy, Tony. Easy."

"Boss..." DiNozzo looked up earnestly at Gibbs, and grabbed at his jacket. "Lou... call Lou..."

"I got it, Tony. I'll call her. Don't worry." Satisfied, the wounded agent nodded with relief, then slumped back against Tim and passed out. Gibbs was alarmed by how pale he looked. There wasn't a lot of obvious blood loss, but that didn't mean he wasn't seriously injured. Without an exit wound, he could be bleeding internally.

The medics arrived, and quickly set to work. They commended Ziva and McGee for their quick thinking in applying pressure on the wound and correctly treating Tony's shock. Tim moved to give them room to work, and proceeded to give Gibbs and Granich a more complete sit-rep from his perspective. Ziva added her two cents as well, pointing out that she'd managed to stab Jessop in the abdomen, although it had barely even slowed her down. Gibbs snapped on a pair of gloves and bagged the knife, as well as the Beretta; it was still a crime scene, even if it did involve his own people.

Ducky and Palmer arrived at about 3:00 a.m. Jimmy looked rather the worse for wear, having been woken out of a very deep sleep and a very interesting dream involving a tall brunette, chocolate milk and a fly swatter. Ducky, on the other hand, was his usual, sartorial self, bow tie firmly in place, looking for all the world as if the only thing Granich had interrupted was dinner. Watching the two medical examiners at work, McGee couldn't help wondering if Ducky and Gibbs had been cloned from the same DNA. Neither one of them seemed to require sleep.

Gibbs stepped out into the hallway to call Vance. The Director had been fast asleep, but he was not upset to be wakened up with this kind of news. He was much relieved to hear that they'd been right about Jessop, and he was looking forward to confronting Eli in the morning with the evidence that his Mossad lackey had failed to kill her intended target.

Then Gibbs told him about the loss of Travis and Stewart, and his glee was transformed to fury. It was a senseless waste of life, one that could have so easily been prevented, if only Eli had been honest with them in the first place. Two more funerals to attend. He sighed with grim resignation, thanked Gibbs for the report, and crawled back into bed, drifting into a fitful sleep.

The EMS team by this time had Tony stabilized, with the help of a transfusion of plasma and an oxygen mask. They moved him carefully onto the stretcher. Ziva and Tim hovered nearby, making supportive noises as they wheeled him out into the hallway. Gibbs, who had just gotten off the phone, motioned to them to stop for a moment. Noting that the SFA was awake once more, he bent down towards Tony, and gave him a very light tap on the head.

"DiNozzo – I'm still waiting for that Halpern report, so don't do anything stupid, like giving up on me." He winked, and Tony closed his eyes, swallowed, and nodded. Gibbs patted his arm, and looked up at the medics. "Which hospital?"

"Bethesda, sir." Gibbs nodded, and watched as they somehow maneuvered the stretcher sideways onto the elevator.

It was another 2 ½ hours before they were able to wrap up the scene. Another ME van was sent for, since they could only accommodate two bodies in the one they had. They took Stewart and Travis in the first van; even in death, the NCIS agents commanded far more respect in Ducky's eyes than a Mossad assassin. He and Jimmy still took their time over her body though, since they wanted to ensure no piece of evidence was missed or disturbed so as to implicate their team in any wrongdoing related to her death. It was unlikely in any case – since Eli had not even acknowledged her presence in the country, they doubted anyone would claim the body. It irked Gibbs to realize that officially, she would probably end up classified as a 'Jane Doe'. How would they explain to Travis' wife and Stewart's partner that their loved ones had been killed by an (officially) unknown assailant?

Ziva finally got to bed around 6:00 a.m., after downing a cup of jasmine tea and a couple of Extra-Strength Tylenol tablets to ease her pounding head. She lay there for a long while, staring at the ceiling, pondering the fact that her father had actually sent someone half way around the world to take her life. Whatever Tony said about his father, Anthony DiNozzo Sr. would never wish his own son dead. She didn't know anyone who had such a horrible relationship with a parent, and a part of her wanted to repay the debt. She could go to Tel-Aviv on some pretext or other, stop in for a 'visit', pretending to know nothing about Jessop or her mission. It would be so easy...

But it could only happen in her dreams. She drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_**7:35 a.m.**_

Louisa Penachetti let the hot water beat against her smooth olive skin, savouring every moment of the Waterpik massage setting. Her whole body had felt tight and tense, from her neck and shoulders all the way down to her toes, but with each pulse of the shower, she felt that tension drain away. The emotional walls that she'd begun to let drop a week ago had by now been completely rebuilt, restoring the feeling of safety and security. Tony had finally stopped calling. She had peace at last. The single life was the only way to go, she decided. She could do what she wanted, when she wanted, and not worry about inconveniencing anyone else...

...Who was she kidding? She might be feeling safe once more, but she'd been thoroughly miserable for the past two days, regardless. Anger had gradually dissipated into self-pity, as she contemplated how badly she'd misread Tony's signals. Inexperience on the dating scene really had been a handicap in this situation. She just hadn't seen it coming. She'd read far too much into his attentions, and let her heart feel things it had no business feeling.

This morning, when she saw Pete at church, she really didn't know what she would say to him. She was fairly certain Tony wouldn't have admitted to his friend that he'd cheated on his sister, so Pete would be in the dark. Once she broke the news, all hell would break loose, and that would be the end of the Penachetti-DiNozzo friendship. It had better wait until _after_ mass, she decided – it wouldn't be right to put Pete in that frame of mind _before _worship.

It was a rainy day, and she didn't feel like wearing a skirt and heels while trying to navigate the puddles in the cathedral parking lot. She pulled out a pair of charcoal gray slacks and a light cotton sweater combo in a pale green that brought out the little amethyst flecks in her eyes. Twenty minutes later, she had her subtle touch of makeup expertly done, and with one last check in the full-length mirror, she was out the door and on her way to St. Barnabas.

She'd turned off the ringer on her cell phone and deposited it in her purse the night before (so as not to create a disturbance during the mass). She did not notice the message from Gibbs, received at 6:24 a.m.

* * *

_**7:35 a.m.**_

The phone rang as Hank Penachetti pulled up his suspenders.

"Hello?"

"Admiral. This is Leon Vance, NCIS."

"Leon! Isn't this a bit early for you on a Sunday?"

"Yes, Sir, it is. But I have some news I thought you'd want to hear."

"I'm all ears."

"Noreen Jessop, the Mossad agent we believe was responsible for framing your daughter, has been eliminated. Unfortunately we weren't able to take her alive. Mossad is denying any knowledge of her assignment. But I believe justice has been done."

"Well...nice work, Leon! That's good to hear."

"Yes. It came at a heavy cost, though."

"Meaning...?"

"We lost two good agents, and very nearly lost a third."

Penachetti, who had been pacing the bedroom hunting for his left sock (which was firmly clenched in the mouth of his mutt Seabee), sank down onto the bed at this news. He grabbed a pen and paper from the bedside table. "Names?"

"Travis, Donald. Stewart, Devon. DiNozzo, Anthony."

The Admiral swallowed hard. "_Anthony_. Is he...?"

"I just got an update from Agent Gibbs an hour ago. They took him to Bethesda Naval Hospital. He's out of surgery, expected to make a full recovery. But it was touch and go for awhile there... you know Agent DiNozzo?"

Penachetti breathed a sigh of relief. "Praise God... yes, I know him. He's... a friend of the family." There was no point getting into details with Vance about Tony's relationship with Louisa, or his friendship with Pete, for that matter. "Have you notified the families of those other two agents yet?"

"Supervisory Agent Granich is doing so this morning."

"Well, be sure to let me know what arrangements are made...I'll be wanting to pay my respects, as I'm sure my daughter will, as well."

"Will do, Admiral."

* * *

_**8:52 a.m.**_

Hank and Teresa Penachetti met up with Pete, Julia and their two children, Cameron and Sarah, in the narthex, at the rear of St. Barnabas Cathedral. The younger Penachettis had not heard the news about Tony, and Pete was shocked to learn of his friend's serious injury.

The family took their seats, three rows back from the chancel. Louisa was nowhere to be seen. Everyone assumed she'd been notified about the shooting, and that she was by Tony's side at the hospital, providing him comfort. Until they saw her walk in at 8:58 a.m. and settle into a pew by herself, near the back. It was too late to speak with her before the start of the service, but they all wondered at her devotion in coming to mass when her beau had been so badly hurt just hours earlier. Perhaps she felt she could do him the most good by offering up prayers of healing?

The truth was, of course, very different. In fact, she spent most of the hour praying for the ability to forgive Tony his indiscretions, and the strength to let him go, and move on.

After the mass ended, she tried to escape without being accosted by the family, but Cameron was too quick, and ran back to greet her.

"Zia Louisa!"

"Hi, Cam!" She bent down and gave him a big hug. "Don't you look smart today, in your suit and tie? Y'know, you get bigger every time I see you!" The five-year-old kept her occupied until the rest of the Penachetti clan could make their way to the narthex, and they approached her cautiously, not wanting to upset her any further.

"Lou!" Julia threw her arms around her sister-in-law, and held her tight. "How are you holding up?"

"I'll be ok..." she responded, puzzled. Did they already know?

"I didn't think you'd be here this morning, Sis," Pete intoned. "I'm going to pay Tony a visit – wanna come with?"

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Why on earth would I want to do _that_? In fact, I can't believe _you_ want to do that. Don't you care about my feelings at all?"

They all stared at her in shock. "Pete...she doesn't know!" Julia exclaimed, as the penny dropped.

"Know what?" Louisa stared at them blankly.

"Honey, you'd better sit down." Her mother took her hand gently and nudged her back down on the pew. Her eyes went wide as her father told her about Tony's gunshot wound, and Noreen Jessop's attempt on Ziva's life. The pieces fell into place, and a sick feeling overcame her as she realized how wrongly she'd interpreted Jimmy's warning to stay away from the apartment.

"Why wouldn't they have called me? Agent Gibbs knew I was going with Tony..." She suddenly remembered that she'd silenced her cell. Reaching into her purse, she pulled it out, and saw the _Message Waiting_ icon on the screen. She grimaced, and held the phone to her ear.

"_This is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message, Petty Officer. Tony's been injured, but I've been assured he's going to make it. He's at Bethesda Naval Hospital. If you call me, I can give you the details. My number is 202-737-2122."_

She shut the phone off, and put her head in her hands. Teresa hugged her daughter, offering words of comfort and support. After a few moments, Louisa glanced up at her brother. To his surprise, there were no tears; instead, she bore a resolute expression on her face.

"Let's go, Pete."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Long time coming, I know. Sorry - hope it was worth the wait. Hope I didn't get too gooey with the Ziva/Louisa scene... the situation needed a resolution, somehow. That scene is what held up this chappie for so long. Couldn't resist throwing in good ol' Dean Martin here - love that song, it's so _them_! Google the lyrics...you'll see what I mean.**

**Warnings/Spoilers: The Usual.**

**Disclaimer: The Usual.**

* * *

_**Sunday, June 6, 2010 10:22 a.m.**_

Pete Penachetti knew better than to let his sister drive. She was in a state of shock, and was unusually quiet as they proceeded down the Capital Beltway towards the NNMC. She was in the sort of condition that led to car accidents, and Louisa certainly didn't need that on top of everything she was already dealing with: guilt, fear, shame...

They had been driving for about 15 minutes, when finally she began spilling her guts to Pete, describing the unfortunate misunderstanding that had started it all, and its aftermath. Her brother rolled his eyes at the thought of Tony having a fling with his partner.

"Lou, I don't know where you ever got the idea that Tony could do that. He may have had lots of women in his life, but in all the years I've known him, he's only ever had one at a time."

"Oh Pete, I feel _so stupid_. How am I going to fix this?"

Her brother laughed. "Knowing Tony and painkillers, I'm betting he won't even remember. Don't fret about it. He'll just be happy to see you." He was silent for a moment, pondering the idea of his sister and his best friend, as a couple. "Just how serious _is_ this thing with you two, anyway?"

She smiled, and looked absently out the window. "Well, I can't speak for him, but... he makes me feel... _special..._ know what I mean?"

Pete glanced over at her, and realized that he couldn't ever remember seeing Louisa so serenely happy. He grinned. "I'm happy for you, Sis, I really am... I just... I didn't think you'd ever go on a date with _anyone_... let alone Tony."

She frowned, and glanced sideways at him. "He's nothing like you described him, y'know. You had me thinking he was this irresponsible, dissipated playboy..." She sighed, and gazed back out the window. "He was so kind to me. He believed in me, when no-one else did. He even came to visit me in that holding cell...and he brought me my rosary."

At this, Pete almost went off the road. "Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"Well, then, you see my point," Louisa shot back. "But... I think you knew all along what he was really like. I think that's why you and he are such good friends...that other stuff is all just for show. You're just looking to him to experience a bit of the wild youth you never had...and Tony's looking to _you_ for a taste of the stable childhood _he_ never had."

"So, when did you pick up the psych degree?" Pete mocked. He contemplated her words for a few moments. "You're probably right, though. I guess if I really thought Tony was that… _casual_… I never would've let him take you out."

She chuckled. "And how, exactly, would you have stopped him? I _am_ a grown woman, you know."

"Yeah… sometimes I forget that. You're still my little sister, always will be. I've always felt kind of protective of you, especially since..." He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Louisa fell silent also, and gazed down at her lap. It was their little secret. The thing she'd confided to her brother, and no-one else.

They pulled in front of the emergency department at NNMC. "Why don't I drop you off here, Lou? I'll park the car, and I'll meet up with you."

She nodded, and hopped out, striding purposefully down the hallway to the triage desk. "I'm looking for Anthony DiNozzo."

"Are you a family member?" the nurse questioned suspiciously.

"It's ok. She's his girlfriend," a firm, yet soft voice intoned. Louisa looked up, and there stood Gibbs, a gentle smile on his face. "Louisa."

He held out his hand to her. She took it, and let him pull her into his embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder, and finally let go of all of the pent-up fear and distress she'd been stifling for the past hour. He led her around the corner, to a sofa in the 'family waiting room', and they sat and talked until Pete arrived.

"He's in I.C.U., Pete." Her eyes were red, her makeup streaked, but she was smiling. "He's gonna be ok."

Pete sank down onto the sofa next to his sister. Looking around, he noted that Gibbs' entire team was present (with the exception of Ziva – which was understandable, he thought to himself, considering someone had almost succeeded in killing her a few hours ago). McGee sat in a corner, fast asleep, with Abby next to him, her head on his shoulder, staring up and counting the dots in the ceiling tiles. Ducky was reading a medical monograph that had been lent to him by the chief E.R. resident. And Palmer was trying desperately to find that fly swatter again in that lovely dream of his, as he lay almost horizontal in a recliner, which happened to have a Shiatsu Massage gizmo built into it. Prime real estate, and he'd snagged it.

The autopsies would wait until Monday.

They sat and chatted for about half an hour, Gibbs filling in the Penachettis on the details of the shooting and what he had learned concerning Tony's injury. The bullet had initially hit his Kevlar vest in the upper right chest, had glanced sideways and embedded itself in Tony's clavicle, shattering the bone in the process. The surgeon had removed several bone fragments, as well as repairing a nicked artery (which had resulted in a fair bit of blood loss – the cause of Tony's shock) and a couple of torn ligaments surrounding the shoulder joint. He was very fortunate that there did not appear to be any serious muscle or nerve damage. Even so, DiNozzo was looking at 3 weeks of mandatory sick leave and at least 2 more weeks of desk duty after that before he'd be allowed in the field again. Along with this, there would be several months of physiotherapy required. He wasn't going to like it, and Gibbs was already trying to think up ways to keep him occupied. Louisa promised to do what she could to keep him in line. Gibbs smiled at the thought. So did Pete.

Trauma surgeon Dr. Jonas Henderson stuck his head into the waiting room. "Agent Gibbs? We'll be moving Agent DiNozzo to a private room in a few minutes. He's awake, but we've got him on a pretty strong narcotic, so he'll be a bit groggy for awhile."

"Can he have visitors?" Louisa inquired.

"I'll allow a very brief visit – keep it to five minutes. We're still transfusing him. He needs rest. One or two people only, please." Gibbs introduced Louisa to Dr. Henderson, and insisted that she be the first one to see him.

She approached his bed with trepidation. The monitors, the IV drip, the blood transfusion still in progress, the catheter, the nasal cannula feeding his oxygen-starved body... it all made him look so vulnerable. His eyes were closed, and she assumed he'd drifted back off to sleep. She moved a chair next to the bed, and took his hand, gently stroking the back of it with her thumb. With her free hand she ran her fingers through his hair, which was all askew and clumped together from perspiration. As she did so, a smile appeared on his face, and he opened his eyes slowly.

His expression gradually morphed from happy to confused, as he struggled to recognize the face smiling back at him. He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it again. Louisa leaned in and kissed his forehead. He tried to speak once more, but she put her fingers to his lips.

"Shhh, Tony...don't talk. Just rest."

His smile returned, as he recognized the voice. "Lou..." He swallowed hard; the smile faded, and he gazed at her intently. "Are we ok?"

She bit her lip, and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, Tony. We're ok."

He grinned, and squeezed her hand. "My itty-bitty Penachetti."

Louisa blushed and chuckled. "_What_ did you just call me?"

He continued babbling. "You're so cute."

"You better quit while you're ahead, DiNozzo." Gibbs was standing by the doorway, leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed, a bemused grin on his face. Then, turning to Louisa, "Doc wants us to clear out for awhile." She nodded, and turned back to the patient.

"Tony, get some sleep," she whispered. "I'll be back this evening. I'll bring Pete with me, and some snacks, and we'll watch the game together." She motioned her head towards the TV set mounted on the wall at the foot of his bed. Noting his confused expression, she added, "We have a date tonight, remember?" His smile broadened.

"Game five," he nodded in recognition.

"Close your eyes," she ordered. He complied, and calm and serenity graced his stubbled face. She stood up, leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. She pulled the blanket up around him. "Sleep well."

When they exited the room, they found Ducky in conversation with Dr. Henderson. He wanted to be kept up to date on Tony's condition, so that DiNozzo couldn't put one over on him when he returned to work. Pete and the rest of the team were disappointed they would not be allowed to see their friend, but when Louisa described his current state, they understood it was for the best that he be left alone to rest.

"Agent Gibbs? I left a tin of cookies on Tony's desk the other day. Would I be able to stop by your office on my way home to pick it up?"

Jimmy Palmer slumped down just a bit further in the recliner.

"Nope. Those were all gone by Friday night," the Supervisory Agent stated simply. Louisa's eyes widened.

"Food is kind of a communal thing with us," Abby explained helpfully. "What's yours is mine, and what's anyone's is Gibbs'."

Gibbs frowned and shot Abby a retort in sign language. She grinned and signed sweetly back to him. He rolled his eyes.

"They were delicious," McGee added with a smile.

"Oh. Well, I guess I know what I'm doing this afternoon, then." She glanced at her brother and winked. "Time to get home to your family, Pete."

McGee gave the foot rest of the recliner a kick. "C'mon, Jimmy, time to go." Palmer jumped out of the chair, and gave Tim a glare for so rudely interrupting his massage. Tim dangled the keys in front of Palmer's face. "Bus is leavin'."

Jimmy looked plaintively at Ducky. "Don't look at me, my boy, I'm leaving now too, and I won't be going home right away, I'm afraid." Abby and McGee exchanged curious glances yet again.

They all went their separate ways, satisfied that Tony was in good hands and comfortable at last.

* * *

_**2:07 p.m.**_

Ziva David awoke with an intense feeling of disorientation. It was broad daylight. What time was it? She glanced at the clock, flopped back onto her back, and slowly let the events of the early morning hours return to her consciousness. She lay there for some minutes, reliving the struggle with Noreen Jessop. The memory of the barrel of that gun pointing straight at her head sent a shudder through her body. Almost unbelievably, Jessop had fallen forward. And it had all been over. Just like that.

When she'd first seen Tony go down, she'd assumed, with horror, that he was dead. So it hadn't immediately registered that he had been the one to fire the kill shot, nor that McGee was trying to save his life. It was out of character for a Mossad assassin to have allowed Tony to live, but she supposed Jessop had been so intent on reaching her intended target that she'd gotten sloppy and hadn't bothered to check his condition before making her next move.

Ziva had been frozen in place, unable to react for a moment to the panicky orders McGee had been firing at her. How was it possible that _he_ had taken charge of the scene, and not she? And why, when she'd recovered from the initial shock, had she simply done everything he'd told her to do? The truth was she'd been more shaken by the whole episode than she wanted to admit. Was she losing her edge?

She shifted gears, pondering anew the conversation they'd been having just before the whole incident had started. She tried to picture Tony in a settled, committed relationship. She tried to picture him as a husband. As a father. She shook her head. It didn't seem within the realm of possibility. Then again, she couldn't really picture Gibbs as a married man either. And he'd done it four times. Who was she to judge?

She had been truly taken aback by Tony's admission that he was lonely, that he was tired of the single life, that he actually envied his friend's domestic bliss. Maybe Louisa would be good for Tony? Maybe the very thing that made her seem 'not his type' was the very thing that made her his perfect match? After all, wasn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over, while expecting different results? At least this time he was trying something, some_one_, different. She chided herself for having been so judgemental, for trying to convince him that Louisa Penachetti was all wrong for him. And she wondered if, perhaps, the reason had been just a tinge of jealousy?

She loved him. She could admit that. But it wasn't a romantic kind of love. It had started out as pure sexual attraction. But over the years of working together, it had grown and developed into a mutually protective, deep understanding and caring for one another. They'd continued to flirt, (regardless of whether he had a current girlfriend or not), and sometimes they'd come awfully close to crossing the line. But it was just a thrilling game, and they both knew with certainty where that line was. Neither one would dare to cross it, because that would mean the end of their partnership as they knew it.

Gibbs was absolutely right – it was impossible to work that closely with someone you'd slept with, without endangering their life, and those of others on the team. Judgement would be clouded, hesitation would creep in when split-second decisions were required.

And in any case, Tony had stopped flirting. That told Ziva that he genuinely cared about Louisa's feelings for him. That told Ziva that, to Tony, Louisa was different… special. And if Ziva really cared for Tony, she had to respect that.

But there was trouble in paradise. Tony had even hinted that it was all over, before it had really even started. Louisa wasn't answering his phone calls, and he was genuinely upset about it.

Well, maybe she wouldn't talk to Tony. But perhaps she would talk to Ziva?

* * *

_**4:35 p.m.**_

Louisa bounced around the kitchen, bopping to the strains of Dean Martin crooning "Ain't Love a Kick in the Head?".

It seemed appropriate.

She had donned an apron, and was baking a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. The apartment was filled with the lovely, comforting aromas of chocolate and vanilla, mixed with a bit of hazelnut emanating from the freshly perked pot of coffee sitting on the counter. Whiskers kept a vigil next to his dish, hoping to see something land in it, but Louisa was studiously ignoring him. She felt incredibly light-hearted and joyful, now that all was right between her and Tony once more, and she had assurances that he was on the mend.

There was a knock at the door. She grabbed the remote and turned down the volume on the stereo, tossing her apron aside as she approached the front hallway. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she supposed it must be her folks, or perhaps Julia calling in to make sure she was ok. She peeked through the peephole, and her heart jumped into her throat as she undid the latch and swung the door open.

"Petty Officer. I don't know if you remember me – I am Tony's partner, Ziva David. May I speak with you a moment?"

"Agent David… I… um… please come in." Louisa was at sixes and sevens. How to react to this woman, who, in her mind, had gone from hard-nosed federal spook, to supposed romantic arch-rival, to almost-murder-victim, in a grand total of seven days? "I just made coffee. Can I offer you some?"

"Please, call me Ziva. Yes, thank you, I would love some coffee." Ziva flopped down on the sofa, and glanced around at the living room she'd previously invaded with Tony less than a week ago. Things certainly had changed quickly in that time.

Louisa brought in a tray with two mugs of coffee, cream, sugar, and a small plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out the purpose of Ziva's visit, less than 24 hours after someone had tried to kill her. She sat down in the arm chair across from her guest.

"Are you ok? I heard about what happened this morning. It sounded like a very close call."

"Yes, I am fine, thank you," Ziva responded dismissively. "Gibbs tells me Tony is resting comfortably. I was very relieved to hear that he was out of danger." Ziva took a sip of her coffee, and nibbled on a cookie. She smiled. "These are really very good," she muttered as she chewed. "I understand the batch you left in the bullpen did not last long."

Louisa rolled her eyes. "Yes, I heard all about your team's 'communal' eating habits… they were really meant for Tony, you know."

"Not good for him. He is, how do you say it, 'filling out'?"

Was it meant as a barb, or simply an observation? Louisa couldn't decipher the inscrutable look on her visitor's face. She chose to ignore it, and merely smiled sweetly. "Why are you here, Ziva?"

"He misses you." Louisa set down her mug and stared at Ziva in astonishment. The former Mossad agent continued, "Why have you not returned his phone calls?"

This was too much. "And why are _you_ interfering? For your information, Tony and I are just fine, thank you." Then it dawned on her – Ziva was trying to mend the rift, not widen it. She softened her tone. "I mean… I went to see him this morning – we got it all sorted out." She didn't dare admit that she'd been jealous of this woman. But she supposed that Ziva could see right through her; she seemed to have a sixth sense.

"It was not my intention to interfere. I merely wanted to… intercede. He was quite distraught last night. I have never seen him that way before. You mean a great deal to him…" she trailed off, glancing down at her mug, almost embarrassed to be speaking this way.

Louisa got up from her chair and sat down next to Ziva on the sofa. They looked each other in the eye, and a mutual understanding crystallized in that silent moment. Ziva was actually rooting for her, she realized, and this was her way of letting Louisa know she would not stand in her way.

"I owe you an apology, Ziva," she said softly. "I misunderstood your relationship with Tony. I guess I'm still a little insecure; I feel as if he's out of my league."

Ziva chuckled. "If you only knew…"

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Louisa… Tony is not the ladies' man you think he is. He is such a good actor, he even had _me_ fooled, for a time."

"I know. He's not a playboy like everyone says…"

Ziva shook her head. "No, that is not what I mean. He simply finds relationships intimidating. _He_ is the insecure one. Why do you think he was so upset last night? When you did not call him back, he immediately assumed he had done something wrong, and was searching for a way to fix it. I believe that his 'sex machine' persona is simply a way of disguising the fact that he is still seeking the love and attention he did not receive as a child. He is far more vulnerable than he wants anyone to see. In a strange way, I believe he actually feels he does not deserve to be happy."

Louisa pondered those words, which seemed to build on her own assessment of Tony that she'd shared with Pete earlier in the day. If what Ziva was saying were true, then she and Tony made quite a pair... a couple of injured, needy souls, who had somehow found each other. What if it turned out she had as much to offer him, as he could give to her? What if she had as much power over this man, as he had over her? An increased self-confidence swept over her, and the jealousy and insecurity she had harboured began to fade away.

She smiled. "Maybe I'll be the one to convince him that he _does_ deserve to be happy."

"I hope so."

A Mona Lisa smile came over Ziva's features, and Louisa realized this was a very bittersweet moment for her. She took Ziva's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Ziva, I know you care for Tony a great deal. And I hope that never changes. You've been such a good friend to him. I won't ever stand in the way of that."

They nodded to each other knowingly, and the bond between them was cemented in that moment. They could both love Tony… each in their own way.

* * *

_**6:32 p.m.**_

Louisa donned her most comfortable hanging-out clothes: a pair of relaxed-fit Levis, socks and sneakers… and her Washington Capitals hockey jersey, selected especially for this occasion. She bagged up a selection of junk food from her pantry – pretzels, cheese doodles, salt & vinegar, BBQ and plain potato chips. None of it was coming back into the apartment; of that she was determined. If anything was left over after the game, it would either go home with Pete, or it was destined for the garbage. She had 20 pounds to lose, and having that stuff in the cupboard would only serve to sabotage her efforts.

At the very bottom of the bag rested a tin of freshly-baked, soft and gooey chocolate chip cookies, given the NCIS seal of approval earlier in the day by Ziva.

She put down a can of Beef Dinner for Whiskers, shut off all but the kitchen light over the sink, and locked the door behind her. She would pick up Pete on the way to the hospital.

* * *

_**7:20 p.m.**_

Pete and Louisa crept quietly into Tony's room, not wanting to wake him up until closer to game time. To their delight, however, he was already propped up in bed, watching SportsCenter. His right arm was in a sling, and he no longer sported the nasal cannula, signifying that his breathing had returned to normal. He grinned at them as they tiptoed into the room.

"Is this a stealth bombing?"

"Well," harrumphed Pete. "You're obviously feeling better." He tossed a heavy cloth bag onto the foot of the bed; it made a clinking sound.

"No thanks to the hospital catering service," Tony grimaced, pushing away the rolling tray on which sat the remains of a very lacklustre-looking dinner. "You ever try eating cardboard, with your left hand, no less? It sucks."

"Oh, quit whining, and open up this bag of chips for me." Louisa pulled out a bag of Salt & Vinegar and threw it at him, smirking all the while. He grabbed it and yanked it open with his teeth.

"_Now_ you're talkin' my language! What's in _that_ bag?" he queried, pointing to his feet.

"Shhh… top secret." Pete pulled it open just enough for his pal to peer in and catch a glimpse of six glorious bottles of Bud Light. Tony's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.

"You'll never get away with that," Louisa chastised.

"Wanna bet?" Pete pulled out three stainless steel water bottles. "I came prepared, good boy scout that I am."

His sister shook her head in resignation. "You need only have brought one of those, brother dearest. One of us has to drive home, and Tony can't have any."

"Waddya mean, I can't have any?" Tony protested.

She ignored him, and continued lecturing her brother. "It's very dangerous to mix alcohol and narcotics. You could kill him. How would you like _that_ on your conscience, Pete? Never mind the fact that then you'd have to deal with _me_."

"All, right, time out, guys. You're here to cheer me up, remember?" Tony interjected.

"We're not here to cheer you up. We're here to watch Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs." Pete gave him a stern look. "Which we could have been doing on my lovely 58", surround-sound, home theatre system, if you hadn't gone and got yourself shot." He winked at Louisa.

"See… this is why I like hanging with you so much, Pete. You have your priorities in the right place. Never mind the fact that I almost died this morning."

"Move over." Louisa hopped onto the left side of the bed and gave Tony a nudge with her hip. He grinned broadly and slid himself to the right to make room for her, wincing slightly as he did so. She leaned forward so he could sling his good arm around her waist, then sank back into the pillows and laid her head on his shoulder. Pete raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word.

"You'll have to feed me now, you do realize that…?" Tony quipped, giving Louisa a cheeky sideways glance.

Her brother pulled up a chair next to the right side of the bed.

"Pete can feed both of us. That'll be his penance for being so mean to you."

"I can't reach from over here… sorry. Where's the remote?" He glanced around the room.

Louisa held it up triumphantly. "You can't reach it from over there… sorry." Tony guffawed, suddenly stopping himself as a wave of pain came over him, then subsided.

"Are you ok?" Louisa intoned nervously.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just have to remember not to move around too much. They gave me a pain pump – I can dose myself." He pointed to the pump, which rested on the blanket next to his leg. "But I'm trying not to use it too much, so I don't get silly."

"Have one of these, that'll help." Pete passed a beer in Tony's direction, safely disguised in a water bottle. Louisa reached across and took it from her brother, taking a long pull before setting it down by her legs so Tony couldn't reach it. Tony pouted, and she kissed him full on the lips.

"Thanks, Pete. You just nominated yourself as the DD for tonight," she smiled sweetly at him.

Eight o'clock rolled around, and they settled in to watch the game. With each commercial break, Tony and Louisa got a bit more cuddly, and Pete got a bit more uncomfortable.

"Maybe you two should get a room… oh, wait, you have a room… well, maybe I should leave the room…"

Louisa giggled. Tony grinned. Pete rolled his eyes. And so it went, until the final whistle blew, something after 10 pm. The Blackhawks were victorious this night, much to Louisa's delight.

When they packed it in, there was not a pretzel or cheese doodle to be found. Only one beer had been consumed. And Tony was sound asleep. Louisa slipped out from his embrace, put down the head of the bed slightly, and shut off the overhead light. She pulled up his blankets and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. He didn't move a muscle.

"Sweet dreams, my love."


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: There are positive aspects to being at home sick with a cold...the muse was very willing to cooperate, and so here you go with another chappie! Side note: I'm revising the rating on this story to M because of what's to come in future chapters (how's THAT for a teaser? *smile*) **__**I actually had 'Chet Baker in Paris' playing as I wrote this - lovely CD, you must get it if you like Chet, trumpet, jazz, or any combination thereof. **_

**_Season 8 premiere is tonight...fresh material! *does happy dance*_**

_**Warnings/Spoilers: Up to & including Season 7, especially Flesh and Blood**_

**_Disclaimer: Canon characters - not mine. All others - hands off!_**

* * *

_**Monday, June 7, 2010 12:13 p.m.**_

Tony sat up in bed, glumly shuffling a limp celery stick around on his plate with a fork. Why was it so impossible to make hospital food at least palatable? His tea was lukewarm, the pudding had lumps in it, and he felt certain the bread in the sandwich had been left out to dry for days beforehand.

"You are a fussy eater, yes?"

His head shot up at the familiar voice. "Ziva!" he beamed. "So, McHero wasn't lying – you really are ok."

She smiled and nodded, proffering up a casserole dish in an insulated bag. "I assumed you would not touch their food, so I brought you this." She lifted the lid, and a tantalizing aroma of garlic and red peppers wafted to his nostrils.

"Boy oh boy... between this and Louisa's cookies, I'm not exactly following the prescribed diet," he remarked. "Smells wonderful. What is it?"

"Spaghetti and meat balls. I used your Nonna's recipe, the one you gave me last fall."

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Reaching for his fork, he dived in with gusto. Ziva plopped down in the chair next to the bed and simply watched him for several minutes, as he devoured the meal like a man deprived of food for weeks. They sat in comfortable silence, the only sound being Tony's murmurs of approval between bites. Finally...

"I understand all is well once more between you and Louisa."

He glanced up at her and nodded. "It all blew over. Still have no idea what it was all about."

"I believe I do. But it no longer matters." He cocked his head and gave her a quizzical look. "I have changed my mind about her," she continued. "I think she would be good for you."

He put down his fork and gave her a scowl. "Oh. Thank you so much," he drawled sarcastically. "What changed? Yesterday you were telling me she was completely wrong for me, and that it would never work."

She stared down at her lap for a few moments. "Yes. I regret some of the things I said. I was a bit... "

"Bitchy?" he inserted helpfully.

"Harsh," she corrected, shooting him a fiery glare. She stared into his beautiful green eyes. "She loves you."

Tony blinked. "What did you say?"

"She loves you," Ziva repeated deliberately. "She and I had quite a lengthy conversation yesterday afternoon. I believe I now understand what you see in her. I thought you should know."

Tony sat in stunned silence, studying Ziva's face for any hint that she might be pulling a prank on him. But he saw nothing but complete sincerity in her features.

"You spoke with her yesterday?" he finally stammered. "Why?"

"You said she would not talk to you, so I decided to take the ram by the horns and find out why," she responded simply.

"_Bull_, Ziva. Take the _bull_ by the horns... what exactly did she say?"

"It doesn't matter. But I know this much – she will never take you for granted." Ziva took his hand in both of hers. "You are a good man, Tony. You saved my life yesterday. And this is not the first time. You like to play the part of the self-absorbed frat boy, but in reality, you are nothing of the sort... when it really matters, you think of everyone but yourself. Firing that last shot caused additional damage to your shoulder. It could have killed you." She cupped his cheek with her hand. "I am grateful, beyond words. But now it is time for you to think of yourself... don't be afraid of what makes you happy."

This last comment made him uncomfortable. He shifted in the bed with his good arm. "You sound like my therapist."

"Well, maybe if enough of us say it, one of us will get through to you."

She took the casserole dish from his lap, gave his hand one more quick squeeze, and kissed him on the forehead.

"Goodbye, Tony. Get well soon."

He watched her willowy silhouette disappear through the doorway, and wondered anew if he would ever be able to understand women.

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 8, 2010 9:37 a.m.**_

After being held one day for observation, Tony was discharged on Tuesday morning, with a prescription for Naproxen, a referral to a physiotherapist, and strict instructions not to engage in any strenuous activity for at least 3 weeks. _Yes, Mr. DiNozzo, sex is considered strenuous activity._

Betraying her eagerness, Louisa arrived several minutes early to pick him up. "Hey, you!" she greeted him warmly as she stuck her head in the door of his room.

He grinned back at her. A male nurse was helping him pull up his trousers. Louisa turned beet-red. "You caught me with my pants down!" he quipped. "You have no idea how hard it is to pull up your pants with one hand until something like this happens. And I'm right-handed, too."

"I'll come back when you're decent."

She ducked out, as Tony called after her in protest. "It's ok, Lou, I'm not shy..." Why was she so uncomfortable? It wasn't as though any of the naughty bits had been showing – he already had his boxers on. In fact, he secretly wished she were the one helping him... did he dare tell her that?

Over the past day or so, lying in bed with little else to do but think, Tony had been mulling over his relationship with Louisa, and where it might be headed. Yesterday's conversation with Ziva had given him much to ponder.

He didn't know how to define what he was feeling for Louisa. It was so much more than infatuation. Certainly there was a sexual attraction there – her ample curves made him melt like cheese whiz on warm toast. But it was a host of other things that _really_ had him bowled over. Her vulnerability, ironically combined with a tenacious and feisty side. Her bubbly cheerfulness, offset by that fabulous Italian temper that made him think of Shirley Temple stamping her feet in a tantrum. Her charming domesticity, balanced by a brilliant mathematical mind channelled into a successful Naval career. Her care and concern for him...

He zeroed in on this last point. How comforting it had been, waking up after that horrible ordeal, to find her gazing down at him, smiling, running her fingers through his hair, softly whispering sweet reassurances to him through the fog of painkillers! And yet, she seemed to know instinctively just how much, or how little, coddling he needed. Sunday night, she'd treated him as if nothing was wrong, forcing him to do for himself as much as possible. Brilliant. The last thing he wanted was to feel sorry for himself. She hadn't fawned over him, hadn't put on the kid gloves. She'd treated him like a _man_.

He loved her.

It was not a 'lightning flash' moment of insight, but rather a soft realization that washed over him like a gentle wave. And it felt good. It wasn't frightening.

Despite the fact that they'd only officially been on one date (he didn't count Sunday night, with Pete hovering around the whole time), and had only known each other for nine days now, that feeling did not seem premature to him. It felt as if she'd always been there, in the background, just waiting to ease her way into his life.

And of course, she had. With hindsight, he could now recall certain occasions... Cameron's baptism. Pete's surprise 35th birthday party. The Marine Corps Birthday Ball, three years ago, when she'd worn that spectacular periwinkle blue dress with the strap over one shoulder. Oh yes, she'd caught his attention _that_ night. But then he'd overheard Admiral Penachetti introducing her to someone as his daughter, and his interest had faded, for some reason. Perhaps because it made her seem unattainable? The thought now seemed ridiculous, but back then...

They had rubbed shoulders time and again over the course of five years, without ever actually being introduced. Had she ever noticed _him_, he wondered?

Now fully clothed, he wandered out of his room, and glanced up and down the hallway. There she was – speaking with the discharge nurse at the desk, taking note of the instructions. _Watching out for him. Taking care of him. He wasn't used to it. But he liked it, he decided._ Lots of fluids. Plenty of rest. No lifting over 5 pounds. No driving. No sex. She blushed. Tony laughed.

"I'm all set," he announced nonchalantly, sidling up to her and cocking his head to catch a glimpse of the papers laid out on the counter. "These my marching orders?"

"Yup. I got 'em." She quickly gathered the paperwork and shoved it into her purse. Gazing up at him, she smiled sweetly. "Nice to see you back on your feet, soldier."

"Reporting for duty, ma'am." He saluted with his left hand.

She giggled. "Gibbs says you're to obey every order I give you. Abby sends her love. And Tim said to tell you that you owe him big time for making that video game disappear from your computer. Apparently the network security people came on the warpath yesterday." Her expression turned serious. "It's really not fair, you know. I get written up for transmitting a harmless little family video, and somehow you get away with playing Mob Boss III during work hours. Where's the justice?"

"I lead a charmed life, it's true," he nodded. "Never more true than the day I met _you_." She smiled up at him delightedly. He hooked her chin with his index finger, and leaned in to kiss her. She opened her mouth ever so slightly to receive the gift. Her lips were soft and warm, and her tongue just barely grazed his teeth, with a promise of deeper, more languid kisses to come, when they had more privacy.

"Don't you wanna get out of here?" she asked finally, as their embrace came to its natural conclusion.

He nodded, and took her tiny hand in his. "Let's go home." She raised her eyebrows at him, and he suddenly realized what he'd said. Oh, how he wished they _were_ going home... to _their_ home. She had wormed her way into his life in the most insidious way.

He'd gotten close to setting up house with Jeanne, but getting to that point had taken time, and even then, he'd not been completely comfortable with the idea. But everything was so easy and natural with Louisa, and in no time at all, he was finding himself thinking about the future. _His_ future. _Their_ future.

_Woah, Anthony. Slow down. Take a deep breath. Get your head together. Nine days. How the hell can you know she's the ONE after nine days? Maybe it's the drugs?_

He decided the best thing would be to just let it go. She didn't question him on it, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the awkward moment passed.

* * *

_**10:45 a.m.**_

They stopped at the grocery store on the way to Tony's apartment, and he watched in fascination as Louisa navigated the aisles, effortlessly filling the cart with all that was needed for what he knew were certain to be some amazing meals. Grocery shopping was an infrequent task for him, and when he did it, it usually took all of ten minutes. He hardly ever ventured into the produce section, and it was intriguing to observe Louisa squeezing and sniffing the various fruits and vegetables, selecting only those that were just right for her purposes. He followed along behind her like a loyal pup. This was a completely new experience for him.

_Tony had never gone food shopping with his mother. His mother had never even been inside a grocery store, as far as he knew. She'd had 'people' for that. The food just magically appeared in the service kitchen downstairs, and somehow got transformed into the fancy meals that were presented to them in the formal dining room. Oh, how he'd hated those meals. Having to sit there in his little sailor suit, while the grown-ups held inane, boring conversations around him; staring dejectedly at various strange, unknown foods on his plate, and not being allowed to leave until he'd consumed them all. Why couldn't he just have meat loaf or pork chops, like normal kids?_

Louisa assumed (correctly) that he'd have virtually nothing in his pantry. As a result, the cart was filled, and included such staples as a bag of sugar (he always just lifted a few packets from the lunchroom whenever he needed some), butter, pastry flour, pasta, rice, salt (Tony saved up the little ones that came with his McDonalds fries), vanilla extract, various spices, and baking powder.

A brief inquisition revealed that Tony was also missing several of the required cooking implements, so a whisk, a slotted spoon, a stainless steel bowl, and a spaghetti fork were added to the pile.

The cashier asked if they were setting up house together. It was an impertinent question, and it made Tony's face flush – almost imperceptibly, but he felt it nonetheless. Louisa didn't bat an eye. Tony made note of this. Instead, she handled the situation with grace and aplomb.

"No, he's been away for awhile, so he needs to re-stock. I'm just giving him a hand."

She would not let him help load the bags into the back of her SUV – _no lifting over 5 pounds, remember?_ – but she sensed his need to feel useful, so she charged him with corralling the cart, once the last bag was safely stowed.

Finding room for everything in the cupboards was a challenge. Louisa pulled things out, rearranged, organized, and restocked Tony's entire kitchen.

"You're just gonna have to stay here permanently and take care of me now, 'cos I'll never be able to find anything," he quipped.

"Speaking of not being able to find things... where's your toaster?" Louisa was rummaging around in the lower cupboards, to no avail.

"Don't have one."

"_What_? How do you make toast?"

"Broiler."

"You make your toast in the oven." She stood up and stared at him, hands on her hips.

"Yeah...what's so weird about that?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No, seriously... people put it in a toaster oven, so why not in a regular one?"

"It's a terrible waste of electricity, Tony."

He blinked at her. She sighed. This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought. She had always figured that Pete was the most undomesticated man she'd ever known, but compared to Tony, he was a virtual Jamie Oliver.

She explored his refrigerator, discarding several items that would have made even Abby cringe if she'd found them in her lab, and triumphantly pulled out a package of processed cheese slices in one hand and a jar of pickles in the other.

"It ain't the Ritz, but it'll do for lunch." She whipped up the best grilled cheese sandwiches Tony had ever tasted, complete with fresh tomatoes on the side and a tall, cool glass of milk for each of them. He could get used to this. He really could.

Lunch over, she began to explore more of the apartment. Tony didn't get in her way; he merely sat on the sofa and watched her make her rounds, observed which objects attracted her interest, and let the conversation flow. She admired his jazz CD collection – they compared notes and discovered they had many favourite artists in common. Tony dug out _'Chet Baker in Paris'_ and Louisa nodded appreciatively as the legendary trumpeter's mournful rendition of _Alone Together_ filled the room. She ran her hand along the bookcase, and her eyes rested on a photograph perched in a corner on one of the shelves.

Tony, aged seven or eight, with his parents. Posed. Stilted. Uncomfortable. Adorable.

"You look like your father."

"Yeah, so I'm told. Lucky me."

"Hey! I'll have you know, I meant that as a compliment."

"I know."

She came over to the sofa and flopped down next to him. Her eyes met his, beckoning for further information. He felt compelled to give it to her.

"The man's a con artist, Lou. A fraud. Those good looks got him into and out of trouble so many times... I found out a few months ago... we probably never really had as much money as I thought we did. Or if we did, he blew it all. Not that it matters, because –"

"- because you're not in the will. Yeah, I got that part." She was annoyed with him. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed. "Honour thy Father and Mother, Tony. The Fourth Commandment. You shouldn't speak that way about your Dad, no matter what he did, or didn't, do."

A look of consternation came over Tony. No one had ever challenged him on his attitude towards Senior before. And she was actually quoting _scripture_ at him!

"Excuse me. You're not the one that had to live with a new step-mother every couple of years growing up. I think I'm entitled to be a little bitter."

She processed this new information for a moment. "Tony... did it ever occur to you that maybe your Dad was lonely? That maybe he was trying to fill the void that was left when your Mom died, and he just didn't know how?" Tony's jaw dropped. No, it hadn't occurred to him. She continued, "Most people do the best they can with whatever circumstances they're in. Some of us are better equipped to deal with traumatic experiences than others." _If you only knew..._

"You're like a modern-day Melanie Hamilton." She stared at him blankly. He clarified, "Too good to be true."

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. But family's important, Tony. Family's precious. You have to treasure it."

"Family's never meant anything but embarrassment and aggravation to me. It's just easier without it." His voice caught as he uttered the words. He didn't want it to be so. He wanted to be close with his father. God knows he'd tried. If only he could have had a different family, one like hers... how could she possibly understand? She came from that 'Leave It To Beaver' world, where Dad was the head of the household, and Mom took care of everyone.

"If that's the way you really feel, why do you have that picture on your bookshelf? Why not just stick it in a box somewhere?" she challenged. Oh boy. She was determined to draw this out of him, come hell or high water. But he wasn't going to go there. Not today.

A boyish smile crept over his features. "I keep it there for the ladies. So they can see how cute I was as a kid. See? It works."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do your 'Don Juan' thing on me. You and I both know that's not who you really are."

His smile disappeared. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Ok... you never finished telling me about your mother."

"Sure I did."

"Tony." She uttered his name so softly, it was barely audible. She was stroking his hand, her head cocked to one side, and he was mesmerized by her gaze. It was impossible not to respond. _Jesus_. _She's like some goddamn truth serum_.

He averted his gaze. It wasn't something he'd shared with anyone before – not even his therapist. It wasn't even something he wanted to face himself – but she wasn't going to let this go. And he supposed it had to come out sometime.

"It was my fault," he whispered.

Louisa's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"

"She wouldn't have fallen if it wasn't for me. I left my slinky on the stairs. She was going down to the parlour for her nightcap. She didn't see it. She tripped..."

He winced, then dropped his head. She slid closer to him on the sofa, drawing him down onto her shoulder with her left hand and wrapping her right arm around him. They remained so for some minutes, as Tony wept silently, his arms drawing tighter around Louisa, clinging to her like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

He had never cried over his mother before. It was about time.

"It was an _accident_, Tony." He lifted his head at her sweet voice, struggling to regain composure, and locked his tear-filled eyes with hers. "You mustn't blame yourself."

"Why not? My father did."

A new revelation. Another layer of complexity in the Junior/Senior dynamic.

"Surely not!" Louisa was horrified at the very thought. "What, exactly, did he say to you?"

"He didn't have to _say_ anything. I could tell by the look in his eyes. I'll never forget it. She was lying there, all twisted, at the bottom of the stairs. He was sitting on the floor next to her. He looked up at me. All I saw was rage in his eyes. Pure rage."

"Grief, Tony. What you saw was _grief_. It's sometimes easy to confuse the two."

He shook his head. "We were never close. But that day, it was like a wall came down between us. I was nothing but a nuisance to him. He even left me alone in a hotel room in Maui for two days when I was twelve. He resented having to take care of me. That's why he sent me away to boarding schools and summer camps. I think he was afraid of what he might do to me in one of his drunken rages."

Louisa was thoroughly distressed by Tony's painful analysis. And she had an alternative theory.

"Have you ever actually _asked_ your Dad about that day?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously. "We don't talk, remember?"

"Well, you need to. I refuse to believe your father blamed you. It's far more likely that he just didn't know how to cope with it all."

Tony cupped her face with his good hand and concentrated on her features. "Sweet, innocent Louisa. You've led such a sheltered life. You haven't seen the half of what I've seen. When you're a beat cop... when you work homicide... you get to see the _real_ truth about people. People aren't always nice, Lou. They're not always 'doing the best they can', as you put it.

"My Dad and I will never have what you'd call a 'normal' relationship. It just won't happen. We're civil to each other. He remembers my birthday (usually). I call him at Christmas. But it'll never be anything more than that. That's just the way it is."

Chet was crooning _Everything Happens to Me_. If this were a movie, it would have been the perfect background music for the scene, Louisa mused. She grasped Tony's hand, and pulled it down into her lap. He was done talking. She could tell. It would be wise not to push any further.

"Well... we'll talk about it some more later." She leaned in to kiss him, and, taking care not to stress his bad shoulder, pushed him back into the pillows on the couch. Long, delicious kisses... Louisa's fingers in his hair... her hands exploring his torso... gradually moving down... Tony responding in kind, stroking her back... her cute butt... down to the inside of her thigh...

She sat bolt upright. She was shaking, hyperventilating, her face flushed, her eyes wide. Tony gawped at her with alarm. It was only gentle petting, nothing more. Why was she reacting this way?

"What's wrong, Lou?"

"I'm sorry, Tony. I can't do this. Not now." She bolted up from the couch, frantically searching the room with her eyes for her purse. Locating it on the kitchen counter, she grabbed it and turned back to him, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she repeated, choking on the words.

And just like that, she was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: I have no personal experience from which to draw in writing Louisa's back story - for which I am eternally grateful. Nor do I know anyone who's gone through anything like that (that I know of, anyway). However, this meant I had to rely on other sources to try to make it 'legitimate' and 'realistic': All Hail the Internet! If you are interested in checking out my sources, I will be listing them on my LJ page (which is my 'homepage' on my ff dot net profile). **_

_** I realize that some of you reading this just might have gone through such a personal experience; if so (or even if not, actually), I hope you don't find it presumptuous of me to write this into her life. It was always there, from the very first day her character jumped into my head, many months before I started writing this story, although the details have changed and evolved since then.**_

_**Warnings/Spoilers: The Usual.**_

_**Disclaimer: The Usual.  
**_

_**

* * *

**  
**Wednesday, June 9, 2010 1:15 a.m.**_

Tony stood outside Louisa's apartment, debating whether or not to knock. Would his appearance on her doorstep just freak her out even more? Then again, if he _didn't_ knock, it would be a waste of the $40 he'd shelled out for the cab ride. He gave the door a gentle tap.

After a lengthy pause, it opened slowly, revealing his little purple Ewok. With trepidation, Louisa glanced up at him, then quickly averted her eyes.

"Lou."

"Hi," she muttered.

"Ok if I come in?" His voice was soft… gentle.

Louisa had been dreading this. But she'd known it was coming. Already she knew him well enough to figure out he'd want to push for answers. She stepped back, and he crossed the threshold quickly, before she could change her mind. He headed for the couch, thinking she was right behind him; she headed for the kitchen, pulling out a can of cat food from the pantry. Whiskers was doing figure-eights between her legs and meowing annoyingly.

"Lou."

"Yeah."

"C'mere." He gave the seat next to him a gentle pat.

She sighed. Leaving the unopened can on the counter, she made her way hesitantly to the sofa and sat down gingerly beside him. He took her hand.

"What happened, Lou?"

She couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm… I'm sorry, Tony. I just… got a little flustered, is all."

"No… I meant, what happened in New Orleans?"

Her eyes darted up at him in alarm, then quickly returned to her lap. "How do you know about _that_? What did Pete tell you?"

"_Nothing_. Pete told me nothing. That's why I'm asking…" His tone was unwavering, always gentle, never harsh. She was shaking. He lifted her chin with his hand, forcing her to keep her eyes focused on his. They began to well up. She squeezed them shut, forcing salty drops to slide down her rosy cheeks. He kissed one away.

That was the tipping point.

She let out a guttural wail, and he quickly threw his arms around her, drawing her head down to his shoulder. The sobs came from some place deep within her. This was unlike any of the tears he'd previously seen her shed; this was pain ripping through her like a knife. He winced as her nails dug into his bad shoulder, but he did not let her see it. She needed to let this out, whatever it was, wherever it came from.

It was a good five minutes before she regained enough control to loosen her grip, and he was certain he'd have bruises to show for it. He waited patiently for her to pull back and look at him once more. There was fear in her eyes; she was terrified of sharing this with him. He kept silent, watching her. Finally, she began to speak, occasionally stopping to sniffle or swallow when her voice cracked.

"I was sixteen…. There was a party… I was drinking." He tried to imagine Louisa intoxicated, and found it impossible. She continued, "… I passed out… when I woke up, I was in the back of this guy's car…" She stopped for a few moments, taking several deep breaths to regain her composure before going on. "…I didn't know where I was… I didn't know who _he_ was… I couldn't remember how I got there…" More deep breaths.

Tony was rubbing her back gently – up and down… up and down… it was comforting, and it gave her the strength to keep talking. "…He was on top of me. My jeans were around my ankles. He was really heavy... might've been a jock from one of the other high schools. I couldn't move… I screamed, I tried to get away, but I couldn't… next thing I knew, he was inside me…" her voice caught, and more tears came. Tony kissed them away, fighting an internal battle to control the anger welling up in him. "… the more I struggled, the harder he pushed… the more turned on he got. I was so naïve, I didn't understand, I thought there must be a way to stop it, but I didn't know how… everything I tried seemed to make it worse, not better… it hurt so much. I had never…it was the first time..." She trailed off.

Tony hugged her gently to his chest, rocking her slowly. He'd encountered more than a few rape victims in his years of law enforcement. He knew it was important to let her finish telling her story, however long it took. And he knew she wasn't finished yet. Nowhere near.

"… When it was over, he just left me there and drove off. I somehow managed to get my clothes back on, and find my way to a pay phone. I called Pete..." The pieces were coming together. _So that's how Pete knew what happened to her._ "I described a couple of the landmarks where I was, and he recognized the area. He came and got me, took me back to the dorm."

Tony looked at her in surprise. "Why didn't he take you to the police station?"

She bit her lip. "I didn't tell him _everything_ that happened. Not until much later. _Years_ later… all he knew at the time was that I'd gotten drunk, and somehow ended up lost." There was a long pause. "I've never told _anyone_ else. Not until now."

"Not even your Mom?" Tony had pegged Louisa as the type who told her mother everything. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"_Especially_ not my Mom," she retorted emphatically.

Their eyes locked. "Does it feel better, telling someone?"

She shook her head. "Not really… it just brings it all back… It's not _you_, Tony. I'm not afraid of _you_… it's just… I get flashbacks, and it's like I'm right there, living it all over again. It's terrifying. I thought _maybe_, after all these years, it wouldn't happen anymore…" She looked up at him, and made a face. "I'm _so_ sorry, Tony. It must be the biggest turn-off _ever_."

"What? Finding out your girlfriend was raped?" She grimaced at the word. His jaw clenched. "Not a turn-off. But it brings out all my protective instincts." His fists were tight in frustration. There was absolutely nothing they could do about this now. Although the state of Louisiana did not have a statute of limitations on forcible rape, they had no police report. No rape kit. No DNA. No suspect.

She shuddered. "Even now, talking about it makes me feel like I'll never be _clean_ again."

Tony chuckled, and he ran the back of his hand against her cheek. "Lou… you're pure as the driven snow. I've never known anyone as lily-white as you."

She smiled shyly at him. "I'm kind of a mess, actually."

He smiled, taking her face in his hands. "Maybe…but you're _my_ mess."

She made a face at him, pretending to be highly offended. "If you were smart, you'd walk away right now," she remarked ruefully.

"Well...no one's ever accused me of being smart." He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, careful to leave his tongue out of the equation, so as not to startle her again.

"Lou…you've been living with this for _half your life._ You need to get some help." Her face fell. She was getting nervous again, starting to pull away. He took her hands and squeezed them encouragingly. "Don't worry. We'll get through this together, ok?" She nodded tentatively. "And we'll take it slow, with us. You can set the pace. I won't make any moves until you tell me it's ok. Deal?"

She relaxed visibly and nodded. "Deal," she whispered. He pulled her close again, careful not to appear too forceful. She leaned in to him, nuzzling his neck, and draping her arm carefully around his bad shoulder. He kissed her forehead. Louisa gazed up at him, and he was relieved to note that the terror he'd seen in her face earlier had subsided, and had been replaced with a semblance of trust . She lifted her chin, and their lips met. Sliding his fingers gently through her hair at the back of her head, he leaned into the kiss, ever so slightly, and to his surprise, she responded, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

So, they hadn't regressed completely.

They cuddled for about 10 minutes, and Tony was just starting to doze off, when he felt a thump on his lap. It was Whiskers, demanding dinner. He meowed belligerently, and Tony gave him a scratch under his chin.

Louisa sighed. "You big brute, why can't you be a grazer, like other cats?" She slid off the couch, padding into the kitchen and setting out his turkey dinner on a saucer. "There. Now maybe you'll leave us alone." He ran to the dish and began to devour the meal, licking every inch of the saucer lest he miss a spot.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Why do you even _have_ a cat, if you're gonna talk mean to him like that?"

"Oh, he knows I'm only teasing. There's never been a more spoiled animal in Penachetti family history." She ran her hand affectionately along the feline's back, all the way up to the tip of his tail.

She returned to the couch, and settled back into Tony's arms. He yawned, and glanced at his watch. 2:23 a.m.

"Stewart's funeral this afternoon," he tossed out, for no reason in particular. "Travis' is tomorrow. It's gonna be a rough couple of days."

Louisa sighed. "I feel responsible for their deaths, in a way."

"Well, don't, Lou. They were doing their jobs. We all take an oath when we first put on that badge. We all know the risks. You just never know when your number's gonna be up."

She shuddered, and hugged him tight. "I don't want to think about that, Tony. It could've been you… it almost _was_." She turned a fearful glance up at him. "What would I have done if you hadn't pulled through?"

"Well, as I recall, at the time you were pretty pissed at me, so maybe you would've gotten over it more easily than you think."

She sat up abruptly and shoved him away, her hand on his shoulder… his _bad_ shoulder. Tony winced. "Tony DiNozzo, don't you _ever_ say something like that to me again. You hear me?" Her lips were pursed and her face had turned red.

"Lou! It was a joke," he protested.

"A very bad one."

He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry. That's how I usually deal with it. I wasn't thinking." He still hadn't quite figured out her temper, didn't know all the buttons – he'd accidentally pushed one.

"Does it scare you, Tony?" She was struggling to understand why he would feel the need to joke about the dangers he and his teammates faced on a daily basis. "There's no shame in admitting it, you know."

"I don't get scared."

"Liar. I can hear it in your voice."

"No, honest. It's the training. It's like, you go into this different mode, all your senses get heightened. You're not thinking about yourself. You're focusing on the _situation_." She was listening to him intently. He could tell she still had doubts. He hesitated. "Well, ok, there _was_ one time…"

They talked on for another hour or so. Louisa went to bed around 4:00 a.m., after settling Tony in the spare bedroom. There was no way she was going to send him back home at this hour, with another $40 cab fare to pay, when she could just as easily drive him home herself in a few hours and cook him breakfast.

She'd taken the rest of the week off; the funerals were scheduled for late afternoon today and tomorrow, and she knew she wouldn't be in any mood to sit poring over foreign code for hours on end, after the emotional wrenching she always felt at such proceedings. Commander Schumacher was being especially accommodating of her lately, taking into consideration all the trauma she'd suffered over the past few days. It almost made up for the formal reprimand that now sat nestled in her personnel file. Almost, but not quite.

* * *

_**2:47 p.m. - Tony's Apartment  
**_

"Mmmm, you clean up _nice_." Louisa looked Tony up and down appreciatively, admiring his perfectly-fitting dark navy suit, contrasted by the crisp white shirt. She moved in to straighten out his tie.

He grinned. "Thanks. Couldn't quite get that Windsor knot right with this shoulder. It's weird, I can do some things just fine, but every now and then, I put my arm in a certain position, and it just _kills_."

"Well, if you'd take those pills like you're supposed to, maybe that wouldn't happen. Did you think of that?" she admonished.

He shook his head vigorously. "No way. I get stupid on those things, and I'm not about to make a fool of myself in front of my new girlfriend."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's a little late for that, wouldn't you say?"

He gave her a confused look, furrowing his eyebrows. She laughed.

"You don't remember, do you?" He continued to stare at her. "..._my itty-bitty Penachetti_..." she quoted back to him.

He closed his eyes and grimaced. "I said that _out loud?_ Oh God."

"I thought it was sweet, actually." She stroked his freshly-shaved cheek, admiring his features. Oh my, his face was so smooth, just like a baby's... and that after-shave practically had her swooning. She brought her arms around his neck, and their lips met, spreading gingerly into a long, slow and luscious kiss. Tony put his hands on Louisa's hips, careful not to pull her in too tight, lest he engender a feeling of entrapment in her. The last thing she needed right now was another flashback.

Louisa's tongue flicked delightedly inside Tony's mouth, the minty taste of toothpaste and mouthwash making it tingle ever so slightly. God, he tasted good.

His body was reacting to her closeness, despite his best efforts. Would she flinch when she felt it? He loosened his embrace and ended the kiss, much to her consternation. Now she had _him_ feeling jumpy. He glanced at his watch – 3:00 p.m. "We'd better hit the road, hon, traffic'll be a killer on the John Hanson at this time of day."

* * *

**A/N:** _**Interesting bit of trivia: The John Hanson Highway, also known as Route 50, was secretly renamed Interstate 595 a few years ago, but to avoid confusion (my theory being that it's because Route 50 extends all the way to California and has similar connotations as Route 66 in American lore), no such signs are posted anywhere along it. Look it up on Wikipedia...fascinating!**_


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: A rather dark chappie, for the most part, and a brief return to the case for those of you who aren't so fond of the mushy stuff. Please note: opinions expressed by the characters about the IDF attack on the Flotilla are just that - the characters' opinions. This fic is not a political soapbox, and I am not taking sides.  
**

**Warnings/Spoilers: All seasons, up to & including Season 8 premiere, "The Spider and the Fly"**

**Disclaimer: All Canon characters belong to CBS, DPB, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Wednesday, June 9, 2010 3:52 p.m.**_

Louisa got to drive Tony's Mustang. Any other day this would have been an experience full of fun and anticipation, but today it just made her sad. Pulling onto the grounds of Glenwood Cemetery, Tony noted that the rest of the Gibbs and Granich teams were already accounted for, along with about 50 other NCIS personnel, not only from HQ, but also the Norfolk, Central and Washington field offices. Everyone was milling around outside the chapel, chatting and exchanging stories about their fallen comrade. Devon Stewart's experience had been impressive and varied, and he was well-respected among his colleagues. He would be sorely missed.

Cars were parked, one behind the other, extending quite a distance down the winding drive that led up to the chapel. As Louisa parked the Mustang at the back of the line, Tony caught sight of Stewart's partner, who was very obviously struggling to hold it together. Michael Clintock was a curator at the Smithsonian Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington, an expert in post-modern American sculpture. He and Devon had been together since 2002. Although Stewart had never made a show of his sexual orientation, he'd never tried to hide it either; it was just a part of who he was. DiNozzo wasn't especially comfortable with the concept of two men sharing a life together, but he had the good sense to put those feelings aside. He guided Louisa around the curved drive leading up to the chapel, and greeted Michael with words of condolence, introducing his girlfriend to the grieving man.

Gibbs and Granich were standing around near the entrance with four other men whom Tony did not recognize. As the hearse pulled up, he realized why – they were the pallbearers. He ushered Louisa inside quickly, and catching sight of Admiral Penachetti, they joined him in a middle pew. There was no sign of Pete; they had expected him to be there, and Tony wondered what could have come up to delay him.

It was not a religious service – when Stewart had come out, both his father and his church had rejected his lifestyle, and that had been the end of any relationship he might have had with either. Louisa had never attended a secular funeral before, and Tony noted her discomfort. She couldn't help letting her eyes drift over periodically to the other side of the chapel, where Devon's parents sat stoically (and as far away from Michael as they possibly could, she noted sadly).

Various Navy and NCIS personnel, including Director Vance, took turns recounting their perceptions of the fallen agent. They spoke of his dedication to duty, his selflessness, his sense of humour, the pride with which he carried out his responsibilities. Devon Stewart had loved his country, had loved his family (despite their rejection of him), had loved his partner, and had loved life. If there was any comfort to be had, it was in the fact that he'd lived that life to the fullest, always seizing the moment and never taking it for granted. As Stewart was eulogized, Michael wept silently, and a woman sitting next to him put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

Louisa's thoughts drifted back to the wee hours of that Tuesday morning, just over a week ago, when the agent had been tasked with escorting her down to the lock-up. She'd only spent a matter of 15 minutes or so with the man, and yet he'd made an impression on her. He was compassionate, sympathetic, and cheerful. Her heart had been a little less heavy when he'd left her, behind bars and alone. _Why is it always the good that die young?_ she wondered sadly.

She sniffled; Tony squeezed her hand. She glanced up at him, sitting staunchly beside her, his jaw firmly set, no doubt to help him keep his own composure, she surmised. He didn't dare look at her, or he'd lose it, and that would just be unseemly, especially in front of all his colleagues. She turned back to face the front, so as not to add to his discomfort, and squeezed his hand in return.

Nearly everyone stayed for the committal. This was the part Tony always found the hardest.

_One of the childhood memories that haunted him the most was watching his mother's coffin descend into the ground, and looking up at his father's grief-stricken face. Those eyes had bored right into Tony's soul, making him wish he could just shrivel up and die. Senior had been drinking in the limo from the moment they'd left the house (and had probably started much earlier in the day than that). He'd needed the alcohol just to function normally, and by the time they'd reached the cemetery he'd consumed the better part of a bottle of scotch. The little boy wanted to scream at his mother, 'Don't leave me here alone with him!' His fear had been real…palpable. Because, even at the tender age of eight, he knew she wasn't coming back. Ever. _

Louisa could tell by the far-away look in Tony's eyes that he wasn't really paying attention to the words being spoken at the graveside. Gradually a look of recognition came across his features, and she followed his gaze, to spy her brother trudging down the hill from the parking lot. Pete circled around the gathering quietly, sidling up next to Tony and Louisa just as the final words were being spoken and the procession past the grave began. Some of the mourners dropped flowers into the coffin; others simply nodded grimly as they passed by.

"What happened to you?" Tony quizzed Pete as they made their way back to their cars.

"Sorry about that. Got held up in a briefing with SECNAV. The Pentagon's all agitated over this demand by Turkey for an international inquiry into the IDF attack on the Flotilla. They wanted a legal opinion on Israel's interpretation of the Rules of Engagement. The Security Council is waiting for Obama's 'official' response – he's been hedging for days, and we can't stall anymore."

"What a mess. Does anyone else know about the encrypted transmission?"

"No, and SECNAV is determined to keep it that way. I don't know why they even bothered consulting me – it's a foregone conclusion that they'll support Israel's position and shoot down Turkey's resolution for an independent inquiry. They'll want to keep this one in-house."

"For what it's worth, what _is_ your legal opinion?"

Pete shook his head dejectedly. "No question – international law allows the boarding of a ship, _if_ there's an imminent threat. No such threat existed here. Israel did _nothing_ to verify the accuracy of that message. They took it at face value and acted on it, and it appears to have been totally false. There's no evidence that any of those protesters were armed. What's more, several of those who were killed were shot multiple times. It was overkill… but of course, none of that is going to come out in the 'official' inquiry."

"It's sure to raise a few eyebrows, if we just keep on blindly supporting Israel's position like that…" Louisa remarked.

Pete gave her a knowing glance. "You're not kidding. Considering how 'frosty' things have been between Netanyahu and Obama, it's gonna look downright weird. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see people questioning if something else is going on behind the scenes."

"You think they'll be able to keep it under wraps?" Tony wondered.

Pete chuckled. "Area 51… The Kennedy Assassination… 9/11… need I say more? There'll always be people who question things, but over time they'll end up in the minority, labelled as kooks, and the truth will get buried."

"Never figured you for a conspiracy theorist, Pete."

"I'm not. But I _am_ a lawyer, and I know how easy it can be to distort the facts…" Pete responded cryptically, raising his eyebrows at his pal.

"…because that's what lawyers are trained to do," Tony finished for him.

"Yup. And they've got some damn fine lawyers at the Pentagon."

* * *

_**5:07 p.m.**_

Gibbs stood stoically at the graveside, pondering the loss of yet another colleague – a damned fine agent, and a friend. By now, most of the mourners had either returned to their vehicles and were on their way to the reception, or were wandering the cemetery grounds, visiting the graves of other loved ones.

"Jethro – a word?"

Gibbs turned at the sound of Director Vance's voice. "Leon?"

"I thought you'd want to know… the investigation into Noreen Jessop is officially deep-sixed. Mossad vehemently denies any involvement in either Jacob Halpern's murder or the attack on Agent David. I spoke with Jessop's family this morning. They're towing the line, they claim she's been dead for three years, and that it's a case of mistaken identity. Someone got to them, Jethro. We're not going to get anywhere with this."

Gibbs pursed his lips. "Why am I not surprised? So these men died for nothing, according to Eli."

Vance nodded ruefully. "I'm just as unhappy about it as you are. But there's a larger picture I have to consider."

Their eyes met, and Gibbs sent Vance a message via those steel blue-gray orbs, so pointed and sure that the words behind them did not need to be spoken. _What you're really saying is that our people are expendable._

_

* * *

**5:26 p.m.**_

Ziva had parked her Mini directly in front of Gibbs' Dodge Charger. She was among the last to leave, since she'd been chatting with a friend from Balboa's team. Finding Gibbs' vehicle still there, unoccupied, she turned back to the cemetery grounds, and eventually caught sight of him, some distance from where the committal had taken place. She walked up behind him slowly, not wishing to interrupt or startle him. As she approached, she realized why he had chosen to visit this particular spot.

Jenny Sheppard.

"It's been two years, Zivers." He hadn't turned around. How did he know someone was there? How did he know it was her? _How does he do that?_

"Yes."

"All we seem to do is bury our friends."

"And our enemies." He turned to face her, but did not respond. "There is another significance to the date, is there not?"

The corners of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly. She'd done her homework. "Yup. A week ago Tuesday would've been my anniversary with Shannon... today's the day she died."

Ziva extended her hand, and Gibbs took it, but stood his ground. He continued. "This thing with Paloma Reynosa… it's got me thinking. I've got a security detail at my house right now, watching my Dad. Who's to say what happened to Stewart and Travis won't happen to them? How safe is he, really?" _Was it a rhetorical question?_

"Reynosa is no Mossad agent, Gibbs."

"Yeah, but she's not alone. The damage to my Dad's store... she's got a posse with her."

"Who was it that said, 'The only thing we need to fear, is fear itself'?"

Gibbs smiled. "FDR. First inaugural address. _'For the trust reposed in me I will return the courage and the devotion that befit the time. I can do no less.'_"

"We can do no less," Ziva nodded, and left him to his musings.

* * *

_**10:02 p.m.**_

The tension was palpable in Penachetti the Younger's basement. Scott Hartnell had just scored for the Flyers, tying Game 6 of the Stanley Cup playoffs at 3-3. Regulation time was almost over, and it looked like they were headed into overtime.

After the gut-wrenching afternoon they'd spent, it was a relief to finally let loose and revel in what was proving to be an incredibly exciting game.

Tony was struggling with an unopened Bud Light, trying to manipulate the bottle opener with his left hand.

"This is ridiculous. Lou, open this for me, would ya?"

She looked at him askance, took the bottle from him and deftly smacked the neck against the side table, popping off the cap and sending it flying across the room.

"Here you go." She handed it back to him.

Tony's jaw dropped. "Where the hell d'you learn to do _that_?"

"I'm in the Navy, remember?" she responded, as if that was all the explanation needed.

"I love you."

"I know," she responded, doing her best Han Solo imitation. They both burst out laughing.

Julia had gotten fed up with all the hockey mayhem, and had gone out with some friends for the evening, leaving her husband in charge of the roost. The horn sounded - end of regulation time. "I'm gonna go check on the kids. Anyone need anything?" Pete inquired, trying to ignore the incessant flirting. Tony and Louisa shook their heads no, and he shrugged, padding up the stairs in search of a fresh bag of Doritos.

Once he was out of sight, they began to cuddle. Louisa was much more relaxed now, Tony noted, and he was pleased that she seemed to feel safe and comfortable in his arms. They smooched for a good few minutes, until out of the corner of his eye, Tony noticed Pete on the staircase, watching in dumbfounded fascination as his sister sucked face with his best friend. Keeping his forehead pressed against Louisa's, Tony muttered, "We can see you, Pete. You do realize that, don't you?"

Pete turned a shade of crimson that Tony had never seen before, and sputtered as he descended to the basement, protesting his innocence. "I was watching the TV," he argued.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Patrick Kane flipped the puck into the Flyers' net at 4:06 in OT. Louisa jumped off the couch and let out a '_whoop'_ in triumphant jubilation – the Hawks had taken the Cup, for the first time since 1961.


	24. Chapter 24

_**WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of an explicit nature.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own Louisa. I don't own the rest of 'em. And I ain't making money, ok?**_

**A/N: This is my first foray into this 'genre' of storytelling. Please be gentle.**

**I dedicate this chapter to my dear friend across the pond, Scousemuz1k, who acted as beta, cheerleader, and confidante, all rolled into one. You are a _treasure_, and were it not for this site, I would never have found you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

**A huge Thank-You also to my friend in Italy, di-elle, for the superb translation of Tony and Louisa's 'dolce sospiri' - you'd better read this again, di, because I made some big changes after your 'sneak peek'!**

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_**Monday, July 19, 2010 7:32 p.m. – Louisa's Apartment**_

"That was an _amazing_ meal, sweetheart!" Tony pushed back from the table slightly, and beamed at Louisa. She had gone all out for his 40th birthday, cooking a pork loin _Arista _with cannellini beans, savoury gravy made from the drippings, buttery mashed potatoes without a single lump in them, and carrots, perfectly _al dente_, fresh from her parents' garden. They'd shared a bottle of Chianti with the meal, and to top everything off, Louisa had made Tiramisù, with a single candle stuck in the middle of Tony's portion.

She'd sung Happy Birthday, and presented him with a big, luscious kiss on the lips.

Turning 40 wasn't so bad after all. He was a happy man.

They moved to the couch, and Louisa put on some quiet jazz – Charlie Haden and Kenny Barron's _Night in the City_. Tony opened the patio door to let in the warm breeze, and they settled down in each other's arms. His shoulder was healing well; Louisa had nagged at him to keep up the exercises assigned by the physiotherapist, and as aggravating as it was, he had to admit it was paying off. His range of motion was almost back to normal, and the dull ache that had plagued him for the first couple of weeks had now virtually disappeared.

Louisa had started cognitive behavioural therapy about a month ago, with encouragement from Tony. They attended some sessions together, at the therapist's urging, in addition to her private counselling. It was important to build up trust between them, and to desensitize herself from the flashbacks. Day by day, Louisa was getting stronger, learning more about herself and why she had made the choices in life that had shaped her personality and her career.

She'd learned why she was such a perfectionist – subconsciously trying to make up for the fact that she felt like a failure for allowing the rape to occur. She'd blamed herself, rationalizing that if only she hadn't gotten drunk, none of it would have happened. She had felt unworthy of success…had wanted to hide, to fade into the background. She'd given up her dream of becoming a commissioned officer like her brother, choosing instead to allow him the spotlight. In an effort to bring order to the chaos in her mind, she had organized her life in almost an obsessive way. And she'd gained weight, the better to hide her body from the men who, she perceived, wanted nothing less than to take complete advantage. If she made herself unattractive to them, she reasoned, they'd leave her alone.

She'd never imagined that any man would still find her sexy. She'd been wrong. When he'd found out she was dieting, Tony had admonished her, telling her he liked her curves the way they were; he didn't want to date a 'skinny chick'.

The past month had been a real test for Tony. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had, to keep to his promise of allowing Louisa to call the shots in their physical relationship. They'd worked through a lot of issues in therapy, and she was no longer having flashbacks. Still, they had only reached second base.

But he loved her. And he'd finally told her so, two weeks ago. Remembering Paula Cassidy's words, and reflecting on the deaths of Stewart and Travis, Tony had resolved that, this time, he was going to make sure she knew how he felt. This relationship was _special_, and he was going to make the most of every moment… because you never knew if it might be your last. Louisa had responded in kind.

Part of him thought it might be fantastic to wait, to take her as his 'innocent' bride (he still thought of her as a virgin – never mind the rape), and spend their first sweet night together as husband and wife. Another part of him thought that was nuts. Marriage was _way_ off in the distance somewhere – he couldn't even imagine how he'd ever find the courage to ask her, much as the general idea appealed. He wanted her _now_, and he would simply _die_ if he had to go another day without making passionate love with her.

And then, there was the rational part of him. The part that said: _It's only been a few weeks. She's not ready yet. Take your time, Anthony. She'll tell you when the moment is right._

Every now and then, Ziva's words would haunt him: _She will never be intimate with you. Not until you put a ring on her finger. _ He had no idea whether that was really true. He didn't dare broach the subject with Louisa, lest she feel pressured. So how could he know? All he could do was wait, and enjoy each moment together for what it was.

"I'll be right back." Louisa got up and padded over to the entranceway, pulling a small package out of her purse. Beaming, she handed it to him and sat back down, facing him on the sofa with one leg pulled up.

"Lou! I thought we agreed that dinner was my birthday present?" he chided her fondly.

"Yeah, I know… never mind, open it!" she responded eagerly.

He tugged at the bow, and shook the box. "Is there even anything in here? It doesn't weigh anything at all… oh, I know, it's a gift certificate, isn't it?"

She grinned like the Cheshire Cat, and didn't say a word. He lifted the lid gingerly. He lifted the tissue paper. His eyes went wide as saucers. There was a _very_ long silence as he took in the precious gift nestled in the box. Then…

"Lou… are you _sure_?" he asked breathlessly, staring into her big brown eyes.

She nodded, and smiled at him shyly. "I'm sure, Tony," she whispered. She took his hand and squeezed it, then rose from the couch, pulling him towards the bedroom. He allowed her to lead him, and as they passed through the doorway where the crucifix hung, he studied her carefully, expecting to see some small sign of guilt or embarrassment. There was none.

She did not turn on the light. They stood next to the big sleigh bed, and Louisa sank into Tony's arms. God, he couldn't believe this was happening. She was surrendering completely to him! He pulled her face to his with his right hand, and brought his mouth to hers hungrily. He set the small box down on the bedside table, and cupped her right breast with his other hand, squeezing it gently. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his waist, and then sliding her hands down over his butt.

That was all it took to ignite every basic instinct within him. He pulled his arms down around her thighs, hoisting her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. She giggled, burying her face into his neck and licking at the special spot she'd recently discovered just under his left ear that drove him practically insane with delight. He maneuvered her over the bed, and they collapsed together in a tumble of arms and legs, tearing at each other's clothes with abandon.

Tony's heart was racing; his head was spinning. This wasn't anything like how he'd imagined their first time. He'd figured it would be very slow, very methodical, very sensuous. Not crazy, wild, 'do me now' sex. But he was just going to go with it, he decided. In truth, he couldn't really _think_ at all. She was undoing the zipper on his slacks… now her hands were under his shirt, pulling it over his head – buttons, be damned. He was undoing her blouse… sliding her skirt and panties down to her ankles… unhooking her bra… now his mouth was on her nipple, and his tongue flicked over it until it stood at stiff attention. Louisa let out a tiny cry, digging her fingernails into his shoulder blades.

And then he felt it – a sharp pain in his right rotator cuff... a vestige of his gunshot wound. He winced reflexively, then cursed as she pulled back and gazed at him, her face full of concern. He hadn't meant to spoil the moment.

"Did I hurt you, Tony?" she questioned softly, reaching out and touching the scar gingerly.

He shook his head vigorously. "It's ok, hon. Just a little twinge, is all."

Smiling at his bravado, she leaned forward and pressed her lips tenderly against the small white nub of flesh, a tiny yet permanent reminder of his recent brush with death. She nudged him down onto his back, and straddled his thighs. "I think we'd better do it this way," she purred, pulling down his slacks and his boxers in one smooth motion. He lifted his pelvis to help her along, and she flicked her tongue across his abdomen, sending a frisson through his lower body. Where did this woman come from? This wasn't the Louisa he thought he knew. Was he dreaming? If so, he never wanted to wake up.

His manhood was heavy between her breasts, and she slowly moved up his chest and back down, letting it rub against them rhythmically, all the while exploring his torso with her hands and her lips. The feeling was so intense, he wanted to close his eyes and revel in the moment – but he couldn't take his eyes off her angelic face as she gazed lovingly at him. First with her fingertips, and then with her tongue, she toyed with his nipples, fascinated by the fact that they were reacting in much the same way as hers. She kissed them… she suckled them… she nibbled them (careful not to break the flesh, but just enough to make him whimper).

Now she was moving down, and… oh God… her mouth was on the tip of his shaft, her tongue was… oh GOD… her hands were venturing down to caress his balls… it was his turn to let out an involuntary yelp, and Louisa smiled broadly at the realization that she'd found a good spot. She continued to work it lovingly with her fingers, and it took all his willpower not to take her, then and there. Her teeth came down ever so slightly, grazing the hood of his member; then she pulled them back and drew her lips up to the very tip, giving a final flick with her tongue. He was beside himself with arousal.

Tony ran his fingers through her hair, and she slid her body up sufficiently to nibble at his earlobe. She blew into his left ear, and let her tongue explore the outer edge of it. A chill ran down his spine – somehow this was even more intoxicating than anything else she'd done so far. He drew his hands up and caressed her areola with his fingertips. Her nipples were firm and tight, and she sucked in her breath, moving up higher so he could settle his lips on her left breast.

As he explored her chest with his mouth, Louisa reached over to the side table and pulled the gift out of its wrapper. She rolled onto her side, and scrambled down to position it gently on Tony's ready and willing organ. She seemed to know just what to do, much to his amazement. He'd figured her for an ingénue, inexperienced and shy, but she was _all woman_… and mere moments from now, she'd be all _his_.

He turned onto his uninjured side, facing her, and kissed her deeply, pulling her to him as tightly as he could. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, in anticipation of what was soon to come. He felt a flush of warmth throughout his body... he wanted so badly to be inside her... he loved her _so much_. This desire was unfamiliar, somehow. It wasn't just physical, or even emotional... it was, at its heart, _spiritual_. He wanted to give her pleasure... yes. He wanted to hear her scream with ecstasy... most definitely. But it was so much more than that. He wanted to be _connected_ to her, to be _one_ with her.

He kept her pressed close to him as he reached his right hand down and let his fingers wander slowly between the folds of her labia. He was delighted to realize that she was already hot and wet with desire. He felt her quiver with the shock of that first touch, and wondered for one awful millisecond if she was having another flashback. But she did not pull away, instead wrapping one leg over his hip, the better to open herself up for him. He continued probing, first one finger, then two, and finally three, as her body relaxed and prepared itself to receive his. Her breath was now quick and shallow, and she murmured his name over and over, almost incoherently. Curling his fingers, he reached up inside her, stroking the front of her vagina until he found the sweet spot that made her cry out loud, "Oddio..._ODDIO_... _ODDIOOOOOO!_"

She was coming... climaxing, _in Italiano!_ Still, he held her tight against him. Her body convulsed, and now she was suddenly rolling him onto his back once more and sinking down, her legs tightening around his thighs. She slid her hands underneath his buttocks and pulled him up into her deeply, letting out a primal wail as he filled her completely. She leaned forward, sliding her hands up along his chest and letting them rest on his shoulders. In turn, he brought his arms down onto her hips, and began to rock her, ever so slowly.

They settled into a slow, even rhythm, Louisa laying her head against his heart, feeling and hearing its quick but steady beat. She hummed softly, tightening herself around him as he thrust in and out of her deliberately. His movements were measured, his touches full of affection and gentleness. Tony closed his eyes and let himself be transported by the moment. He'd never made love like this before. It was magical… mystical… and profoundly moving.

"Oh Louisa… Ti amo così tanto… oh si… vieni più vicino, amore mio… Voglio riempirti completamente. Oh Dio… sei così bella…"

His voice caught, as he began to feel the powerful surge well up within him. He held himself back, trying desperately not to speed up the pace. It was so delicious, he didn't want it to end. But his body surged forward, mocking his efforts, and with one last marvellous thrust, he let out an intense groan, shuddering involuntarily as the release consumed him like a fire. Louisa cried out as well, sharing in his moment of ecstasy.

She let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Buon compleanno, Tony," she murmured, bestowing soft kisses on his shoulder and up into the crook of his neck.

"Grazie, tesoro… grazie... ti amo." He fingered her curls thoughtfully and kissed her forehead. Tony had never felt such peaceful bliss and contentment in his life. It had been special with Jeanne... but it had been an impossible situation. He'd been an impostor in that relationship, however genuine his feelings had been. But this...this was _real_. Louisa was his, completely and utterly. And he was hers.

The feeling of self-satisfaction… the little boost to his ego that he normally felt when he'd bedded a woman… none of that was present this time, he realized with awe. He was simply lost in her. This wasn't about _him_. It was about _them_. Together they had been transported to another level of human relationship, and nothing would ever be the same again. It would be so much better… so much more meaningful… so much deeper.

They lay there in stillness for some time, silent and dreamy, the faint strains of piano and bass wafting in on the night breeze from the patio door. Tony began to feel uncomfortable as his body relaxed and stretched the gift to its limit. Louisa picked up his signal, reaching down and tenderly removing it. She let her lips brush against his now relaxed member, and caressed it seductively with her warm breath. He shivered.

He gazed at her in wonder. "Who are you, and what have you done with my shy little girlfriend?" he joked.

Louisa propped herself up on her elbows and stared intently into his beautiful green eyes. "I was never shy, Tony… I was… _wounded_… and you healed me."

Tony pondered her words. He supposed one could say the same thing about him. He'd always been a bit afraid of allowing himself to really love anyone. Even now, as the reality of their new situation sank in, a disquieting ache was welling up inside him. He pulled her tightly against him, and sucked in his breath.

"Lou… I don't ever want to lose you…"

"Why would you even say that, Tony? You're not going to lose me…" she reassured him.

"Just about every woman who's ever mattered to me, I've lost… my mother… Kate… Paula… Jenny…" he trailed off, and she noted that his eyes were glassy. "You know why I like undercover work so much?" he continued. She shook her head. "Because it's all about how much you can manipulate a potentially uncontrollable situation. I like being in control. But when it comes to the women I care about… I don't seem to have any control at all over what happens to them ..."

"Tony." She stared deliberately at him. "Think about it. Kate, Paula, Jenny… they were all NCIS agents. It was their _job_ to put their lives on the line. And your mother… she'd been _drinking_, and besides, it was a freak accident." He was focusing intently on her every word. "I work at the NSA, probably one of the most secure buildings in the country. I sit at a computer all day long. I eat dinner at my desk. I only use my gun for target practice at the range, and I've never even used it with live ammo… and Noreen Jessop is dead. Nothing's going to happen to me, Tony."

She felt a slight easing of the tension in his shoulders, but the glistening in his eyes had not dissipated. She could tell her words had not entirely convinced him. But it was a start. She laid her head back down on his chest, and they drifted off into a quiet sleep.

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_**11:45 p.m.**_

Tony awoke to the sound of intense purring in his left ear. He opened one eye suspiciously and glanced to the side; two big yellow-green eyes stared back at him. It took a few moments for him to re-orient himself to where he was, and what had happened this evening. A silly grin took over his features as the memory returned, and he turned to find Louisa, sound asleep next to him in the bed, with 16 pounds of orange tabby lying on top of her head on the goose-down pillow.

Tony rolled over to face her, and kissed her forehead softly. Her eyelids fluttered, and she groaned, lifting up her hand instinctively to move Whiskers, whose considerable girth was pulling on her curly hair. The feline pulled himself up onto all fours and arched his back in a giant stretch, yawning. He pranced across the bed, stepping on Tony's bladder in the process and eliciting an ear-splitting squeal.

Louisa jumped up with a start. "Whah...?" Glancing over at Tony, who was now doubled over in pain, she burst out laughing. "You'd better get used to that."

Whiskers hopped down onto the sheepskin rug next to the bed, and made his way nonchalantly back to the kitchen, oblivious to the ruckus he'd just caused. Tony groaned.

"What time is it?" Louisa questioned, lifting her head lazily off the pillow.

He glanced at his watch. "Almost midnight." He was very thankful he'd accepted her suggestion to book Tuesday off work. At the time, he'd wondered what she had in store. He'd never imagined it would be anything like this. He smiled.

"Better do those dishes." Before he could stop her, she'd flipped on the bedside lamp, slid out of the bed and was pulling on her purple robe and slippers.

"Aw, c'mon Lou, stay here and cuddle with me! The dishes'll still be there tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's why I want to do them now. There's nothing worse than waking up in the morning to a sink full of dishes." He groaned, glumly swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and hunting around on the floor for his boxers. She bent down and picked them up, tossing them at him playfully. "Come on, you can help. It won't take long. I think you could use a little domestication…"

She was already half way to the kitchen. He called after her, "Know what _I_ think?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "_I_ think you need to relax. Remember what Dr. Townsend said about your perfectionism..." Without turning her head, she thrust her arm behind her and gave him the finger. He snorted with surprise. "My God, woman, I barely recognize you tonight."

"Well, I suppose the real 'me' had to come out sometime," she responded sweetly, tossing an impish glance at him over her shoulder and turning on the kitchen tap, full blast. As the sink filled with soap bubbles, Louisa and Tony cleared off the remnants of dishes from the dining room table, and scraped the leavings into the garbage. She tied up the kitchen garbage bag, and ushered Tony out into the hallway to deposit it down the chute. He returned to find she'd opened up another bottle of chianti, and was pouring some into the decanter.

"Time for a nightcap," she announced, pulling out two clean wine glasses from the buffet. "By the time we finish these, it'll be properly aired." She knew her wine. He had to give her that.

To his surprise, Tony found it was sort of fun, playing house with Louisa. She washed, he dried. He put away what he could, after hunting around a fair bit and exploring her cupboards and drawers. Anything he couldn't find a place for, he set back out on the dining room table to be put away later.

As the last dish landed in the drying rack, awaiting Tony's attention, Louisa scooped up some bubbles in the palm of her hand, and blew them at him. He blinked as one popped on the end of his nose. She giggled.

"C'mere, you little rascal!" He grabbed her by the waist and drew her tight against him, letting his tongue slide into her mouth and go on a little journey. Her response was to reach down and grab his crotch – TIGHT. Shit, he couldn't believe this was the same woman who had sat in a holding cell just over a month ago and cried tears of joy over receiving her rosary. She was a lot more complicated than he'd ever realized. "What're you doing?" he squeaked, almost unable to form words at this point.

She hooked her fingers inside the elastic waist of his boxers and yanked them down. "Hop up on the counter."

"_What?"_

"You heard me." She pulled the cord on her robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing her gorgeous, naked form. Their eyes locked, and he looked so dumbfounded, she felt the need to elaborate. "You get a reward for helping me with the dishes."

He dutifully complied, careful to put his weight on his left arm as he hoisted himself up onto the granite countertop, next to the sink. He was already fully erect, his body anticipating her plans even while his brain went numb, struggling to process what was happening. The next thing he knew, she was taking him slowly into her mouth... pumping, up and down, up and down... caressing his gonads with those magic fingers of hers and driving him insane with her tongue.

He gripped the edge of the counter, so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and pushed himself up into her, grimacing with delight as with each stroke she stoked the flame higher and higher. He wouldn't last long at this rate, and sure enough, after only about 30 more strokes (but who was counting?), he exploded into her mouth and watched in astonishment as she swallowed his discharge, smiling seductively up at him.

Tony was speechless – now totally convinced that this _was_ a dream, and very concerned that he might wake up and find himself at his desk, with McGee or Ziva (or, God forbid, both of them) laughing their heads off at the strange sounds he'd been emitting in his sleep. Or worse yet, with cell phone in hand, having recorded it all for dissemination through inter-office e-mail and beyond.

But it wasn't a dream. And they weren't laughing at him.

_She will never be intimate with you. Not until you put a ring on her finger._

No... this time, _he_ would have the last laugh, he chuckled to himself, taking a deep sip of red wine.

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_**Wednesday, July 21, 2010 8:07 a.m.**_

Ziva stepped off the elevator and strode into the bullpen, noting that Tony was already at his desk, pretending to be hard at work. McGee was in the middle of a week's vacation, visiting his parents and sister. DiNozzo was humming to himself, and barely even noticed her arrival.

She furrowed her brow, and leaned both hands on his desk, thrusting her chest suggestively in front of his nose. "You are in a good mood this morning..."

He glanced up at her, and the twinkle in his eye said _Mind your own damn business_ before she could even ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. Silently chastened, she retreated to her desk, her gaze trained upon him in puzzlement and speculation.

And so it went, for the rest of the morning. Every now and then she'd look up from her monitor, and stare at him. He'd sense her eyes on him, thrust his head up, raise his eyebrow, and she'd furtively return to her work.

_Damn_. She'd been wrong. There was an air of satisfaction about her partner today that couldn't be denied. Louisa was not the little cherub that Ziva had taken her for.

And Hell had not frozen over. Go figure.

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**A/N: **By request, here is the translation of the Italian in this chapter:

**Oddio** - Oh God!

**Ti amo così tanto** - I love you so much

**vieni più vicino, amore mio** - come closer, sweetheart

**Voglio riempirti completamente** - I want to fill you up completely

**Oh Dio** - oh God

**sei così bella** - you're so beautiful

**Buon compleanno** - Happy birthday

**Grazie, tesoro… grazie... ti amo** - thank you, sweetheart... thank you... I love you


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Time for some lovely mushiness. Sorry folks, but you knew it was coming, right? And, my apologies to di-elle for borrowing the slogan from your most adorable LJ icon! Hope you don't mind, it just fit so well. Only one more chapter to go after this one...don't worry, I will start writing feverishly tomorrow!**

**Warnings/Spoilers: The Usual.**

**Disclaimer: The Usual.**

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_**Saturday, July 24, 2010 6:35 a.m.**_

Pete Penachetti paced back and forth outside the front of Tony's apartment building, anxious to get going on their regular Saturday morning run. Pete was a stickler for punctuality, and sometimes Tony's fluid perception of time drove him nuts.

He glanced once more at his watch, and decided Tony needed a kick in the pants. Taking the initiative, Pete used the key his friend had given him in case of emergency, and made his way quietly up to the 7th floor. He knocked firmly, and waited. He thought he could detect muffled voices behind the door – the TV must be on, he thought to himself.

Eventually, he heard the chain being unlatched, watched the handle turn, and the door open. He expected to see his best friend, in sweat pants, t-shirt and sneakers, energized and eager to get going. That was decidedly _not_ what he saw.

"Lou!" Pete went first white, then red, as he put the pieces together.

"Hi Pete. C'mon in, Tony's running a bit late this morning. Want some coffee? It's fresh." She padded over to the kitchen without waiting for his response.

"Um… no thanks. Uh… what're you doing here, Lou?" She shot him a withering look. "I mean… not that you shouldn't be here, but… uh… it's 6:30 in the morning, and… um… and you're wearing Tony's bathrobe…" he stammered.

"Glad to see your powers of observation are as sharp as ever. What does it _look_ like I'm doing here? Not that it's any of your business, brother dearest." She returned to the living room with her coffee mug, and flopped down on the sofa, riffling through the newspaper to locate the Sudoku puzzle, and pretending to be oblivious to her brother's astonishment.

Saving him from a disastrously embarrassing moment, Tony emerged just then from the bathroom.

"Sorry Pete, be right there." He rummaged through the front hall closet, locating his favourite pair of Reeboks, and bent down on first one knee and then the other to tie the laces. Properly shod, he bounded over to the sofa, giving Louisa a peck on the cheek. "See you in an hour, hon."

"Have fun, boys!" she called back to them, as they jogged out the door. Louisa smiled impishly to herself, imagining the jumble of thoughts that must be going through her brother's head right now.

They jogged for four or five blocks in total silence. Then…

"That was unexpected."

"What?"

"Louisa. Opening the door back there."

"Oh, yeah. _That_." Tony grinned mischievously.

"So… I guess the therapy is working, huh?" Pete studied Tony's face to see what sort of reaction he'd get. To his surprise, his comment did not engender anything but a pleasant smile and a nod.

"She's doing really well. She hasn't had a flashback in over 3 weeks."

"I'd say you're way beyond 'no flashbacks', Tony." There was an ounce of terseness in Pete's voice that could not be ignored, as far as Tony was concerned. They had reached the edge of the park, whose winding paths formed the bulk of their usual route. Tony stopped at a bench to catch his breath, and looked his friend dead in the eye.

"You have something you wanna say to me, Pete? Spit it out."

Pete had not expected such a visceral reaction, and he was quite taken aback by it. But he felt the need to say his piece, regardless. "Ok. You're sleeping with my sister. I'm not sure how I feel about that..."

Tony scowled. "Geez, Pete, that's too bad," he intoned sarcastically. "She's a grown woman. She's capable of making her own decisions. She doesn't need your permission, _or_ your approval."

"Whoa, buddy. Back up the truck. This isn't about _her_. It's about _you_. I would never presume to tell my sister what to do. I'm just concerned…"

"…because of my track record. Is that it?" Now Tony's hackles were well and truly up. "I made a promise to you when this all started, if you'll recall. _Don't break her heart_, you said. I gave you my word. Have you ever known me to go back on my word, Pete? Have you?"

Pete felt the need to de-escalate the situation; as their voices were rising in pitch, they were beginning to attract unwanted attention. And it had never been his intent to anger his friend.

"_Sit_, Tony." They flopped down onto the bench, and Pete put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Your 'track record', as you so indelicately put it, is not the issue. Listen... ever since Jeanne, you've been… kinda weird… when it comes to women." His voice softened. "You never admitted it to me, but I know you really loved her. It must've been awful, knowing it could never amount to anything."

Tony started to calm down as his friend spoke. He wasn't sure where he was going with this, but he decided to hear him out.

"I know it took a long time for you to get over that," Pete continued. "And you haven't dated much since then. So, I'm just worried that… maybe you don't know anymore what you're looking for in a woman. It just seems to me you'd be wise to take things a bit slower."

Tony's face lit up. "Pete… I've got news for you. I'm not the one setting the pace here."

Pete studied his friend carefully. "Let me get this straight. You're telling me that… Louisa… made the first move?"

Tony nodded, and smiled serenely. "Uh-huh… and by the way, I _do_ know what I'm looking for in a woman… 'cos I've found it." At this, Pete raised his eyebrows. "It just feels _right_, Pete."

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Well… let's see if you still feel that way a few months from now. The longest relationship I've ever known you to have was the one with Jeanne, and you weren't exactly free to quit whenever you wanted, so that one doesn't really count. Women are strange creatures, Tony. You think you know her, but… I can guarantee you… you don't know her. Not after a month. Give it 'till Christmas. Then, if you guys are still together, I'll say you've got a shot. Not before."

"Is that a wager? 'Cos I'll take that bet."

Pete grimaced and shook his head. "Not a wager. Just consider it a friendly request for you not to get ahead of yourself, Tony."

DiNozzo grinned. "Don't worry, Pete. I'm not in any hurry. I'm enjoying things just the way they are."

In August, Louisa's trio performed at the retirement party for NCIS Special Agent James Warner (Tony had given their business card to Vance). He never took his eyes off the youngest Penachetti all evening, watching as she skilfully manipulated the bow against the strings of her cello. She made it look effortless, and the music they made provided a perfect backdrop for an elegant evening of cocktails and reminiscences. With pride, he told everyone he encountered that she was his girlfriend. Abby silently cheered.

In September, Tony took Louisa away for a long weekend at a Bed & Breakfast in the Hamptons. He showed her where he'd spent his summer vacations as a young boy, and they drove through the countryside, stopping for a picnic lunch. They made love in a secluded spot under a big oak tree. Tony pulled his knife out of his belt, and carved their initials in the trunk, forgetting for the moment that he was 40 years old rather than 14.

In October, Tony and Louisa dressed as Batman and Cat Woman for Abby's annual Halloween party. Even though the 31st held unpleasant childhood memories for Tony, Louisa cajoled him into it, and he had to admit it was worth it just to see his girl in that cute little outfit with the whiskers and the tail. For her part, Louisa didn't mind seeing him in tights and wearing a cup. With pride, she told everyone she encountered that he was her boyfriend. Abby silently cheered.

And then along came November…

* * *

_**Thursday, November 11, 2010 1:00 p.m. – Navy Memorial**_

Louisa stood solemnly at attention in the circular outdoor plaza at 701 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, in full dress blues. Her father and brother, likewise attired, flanked her on the right, and on her left stood her handsome beau, along with Gibbs, McGee, Ziva, and Director Vance. Hundreds of Naval and civilian personnel were in attendance for the Veterans Day ceremonies.

The assembly watched in reverent silence as a large wreath was laid at the Lone Sailor Statue, in commemoration of fallen Naval Veterans everywhere. The Navy personnel saluted. Speeches were given. Music was played. Friends and family were remembered.

Tears were shed.

Gibbs thought of his buddies in the Corps who hadn't made it home from the Gulf.

Tony thought of his grandfather Giles Paddington, who'd lost his life in the Battle of Britain in 1940.

Louisa thought of her great-grandparents on the Penachetti side, who'd spent most of World War II in a concentration camp, as punishment for hiding Jews in the fruit cellar of their home in Sicily when the Nazis had come calling.

After the ceremonies, Tony and Louisa explored the adjacent Naval Heritage Center for a good few hours. They wandered into the Ship's Store, and Tony bought a U.S. Navy sweatshirt.

They ate a leisurely dinner at the nearby Zola Restaurant, then returned to the plaza in the evening for a concert by the "Commodores" jazz ensemble.

At the end of this 'perfect day', as Louisa dubbed it, they returned to her apartment, shared a bottle of red wine, watched _'Galaxy Quest'_ to get into a playful mood, then had wild, unbridled sex on the sofa, Tony squealing _'Never give up, Never surrender!'_ as he tried valiantly to stave off the inevitable satiating finale.

"_By Grapthar's Hammer!"_ Louisa giggled, as she slowly came down from the incredible high.

Whiskers sat next to the sofa, carefully washing his face and staring up disdainfully at his mistress and the man who seemed to be gradually insinuating his way into her life.

Stupid humans.

* * *

_**Thursday, November 25, 2010 6:34 p.m.**_

The Penachetti clan gathered at table for a veritable feast this Thanksgiving day. This was Tony's first 'official' holiday meal with Louisa's family, and the usually unflappable DiNozzo was somewhat nervous about making a good impression. He was subdued and cautious, silently observing everything going on around him.

Hank took his role as patriarch very seriously, and holding out his hands to either side, he invited everyone to join him as he led them in prayer. They all linked hands around the table.

"Heavenly Father, we thank you for all the bountiful blessings you provide us each day. You have given us so much more than what is necessary. Give us generous hearts to share what we have with those less fortunate, and keep us ever mindful of that most precious of all your gifts, the salvation you have offered us through your Son, Jesus Christ, in whose name we pray."

There was a chorus of "Amen" around the table. Louisa squeezed Tony's hand, acknowledging that he must be feeling a bit awkward and out of place, with such formality, religion, and ritual. Tony glanced sideways and winked to reassure her.

"Oh boy!" exclaimed Cameron, catching sight of the golden brown turkey being lovingly placed in front of the Admiral by his wife, ready for the ceremonial carving. The aromas were magnificent – basted drippings, savoury stuffing with sage and onions, yams mashed with butter and brown sugar, tender Brussels sprouts, and homemade cranberry sauce. Teresa and Louisa had been working in the kitchen since 8:30 this morning, and everyone delighted at the amazing outcome of their labours.

The food went around the table like a factory assembly line – it reminded Tony of that scene near the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas (although he was loath to compare Admiral Penachetti to the Grinch). Little Sarah made the perfect Cindy-Lou Who, sitting in her booster seat and pressing her tiny fingers into the mashed yams, then running them through her hair, much to Julia's dismay.

It was a truly remarkable meal, and it occurred to Tony that he'd probably gained a few pounds since Louisa's arrival in his life five months ago. But she didn't seem to mind, and he wasn't yet at the point where his suits didn't fit, so for now he resolved to simply enjoy the culinary blessings this relationship afforded.

By the time the pumpkin pie landed in front of him, he was feeling perfectly relaxed and at home with 'the family'. This was the life he'd always longed for as a child… unlike the solemn stiffness in the DiNozzo household at meal times, there was laughter, teasing, and plenty of love to go around at the Penachettis' Thanksgiving table. And the kids were a part of it all; not ignored, not made to sit still and be quiet as little Tony had been.

After dinner, the men insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes, ordering 'the girls' to relax with their coffee in the living room. Tony grabbed a dish towel and assumed his usual position next to the sink – washing up was not his forté, according to Louisa, but he was a master at drying. The Admiral rolled up his shirt sleeves and filled the sink, while Pete finished putting away the leftovers. Once the food was safely stored, Hank sent Pete out to join the women, and Tony braced himself, sensing that a serious conversation was afoot. His instincts were spot-on, as usual.

"Well, Anthony. That was quite a meal, wasn't it?"

"Yes Sir, it sure was."

"My girls certainly know how to cook." Tony nodded, anxious to get past the small talk. "Whoever said, _the way to a man's heart is through his stomach_, was absolutely right… but of course there's more to it than that, isn't there?" Hank looked pointedly at Tony, who swallowed hard.

"Sir?"

"I won't beat around the bush, Anthony. It's been five months now that you've been seeing my daughter. I don't believe I've ever seen her this happy. I still feel quite protective of her, as you can imagine."

_Oh boy_. DiNozzo braced himself for the talking-to he was certain he was about to receive.

"I'm not naïve. I know that you and Louisa have an... intimate... relationship. Now, I'm sure the last thing you want is to have me preaching at you, so I won't." _Thank God._ "Louisa already knows how her mother and I feel about that. I'm sure you do as well. But setting that aside for the moment, I want you to know this Thanksgiving day... how very thankful we are for _you_, Anthony, and for the joy you've brought into our daughter's life."

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir. She's brought plenty of joy into my life, too... and I appreciate you making me feel so welcome this evening."

The Admiral slapped him on the back and grinned. "Well, of course! You're practically one of the family!"

And that was it. The other shoe DiNozzo expected to drop with a thud, never did. Hank returned to his dishwashing, and Tony continued drying and setting dishes out on the kitchen table, ready to be put away. They finished up within a matter of minutes, joining the rest of the family in the living room. The remainder of the evening was spent in front of a roaring fire, playing board games, chatting, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company.

* * *

Later that night, as Tony lay watching Louisa sleeping peacefully beside him in his bed, he pondered the meaning behind her father's words. Hank had obviously thought a great deal about what he wanted to say. The whole thing had been staged. It wasn't just an ordinary expression of gratitude. There must have been some deeper purpose to it. He mulled it over in his mind, this way and that. Gradually, it dawned on him: the Admiral was, in a very subtle way, giving Tony his blessing... anticipating what might be to come.

And in this moment, he couldn't quite imagine his world without Louisa in it – a thought that was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

* * *

**A/N: For those who have not seen the movie _'Galaxy Quest'_... the phrase _'Never give up, Never surrender!'_ is the slogan/rallying cry used throughout the film by star ship Captain Jason Nesmith (Tim Allen). _'By Grapthar's Hammer'_ is an expression used by the alien crew member Alexander Dane (Alan Rickman). It's a hilarious movie, a sometimes subtle, sometimes obvious parody of Star Trek - The Original Series. It won a Hugo Award in 2000 and a Nebula Award in 2001. Rent it. Seriously. It's great!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Well folks, here we are at the end at last...it's been quite a ride! Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this whole story, which was only supposed to be about 10 chapters when I started back in June. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**I make no apologies for the sugaryness of this chapter...I had the ending in mind from the get-go, hence the double-play on words in the title. *grin***

**I'm signing off now for a month, because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo. But never fear, I will re-surface in December for more Tony & Louisa adventures!**

**Warning: Spoilers up to current season, but especially episode 2x22 - 'SWAK'**

**Disclaimer: Canon characters belong to DPB, CBS & Co. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**

* * *

_**Friday, December 17, 2010 8:27 p.m.**_

In an effort to show fiscal restraint, the NCIS staff "Yuletide Party" was being held at the Navy Yard, in the largest meeting room the agency could provide. Staff had worked all day to decorate the stark space, and everyone agreed they'd done not too bad of a job. It looked and sounded quite festive by the time they were done. There were symbols of various faiths around the room – a Christmas tree and a Menorah being the most prominent among them. The DJ was the husband of one of the clerks in HR. A modest array of hors d'oeuvres was laid out, and the cash bar was open for business.

"Merry Christmas, Timmy!" Abby squealed, maneuvering her beau under the mistletoe and giving him a deliberate kiss full on the lips. McGee was practically bowled off his feet, but he didn't complain, a smile sneaking out from behind Abby's big black pigtails even as he struggled to maintain his balance.

It had been two months since the Junior Field Agent and the Forensic Scientist had picked up their relationship again, almost where they'd left off some eight years ago. They'd danced around each other for what seemed like ages, and Tony figured it was about damn time – the tension in the lab had been palpable in the months leading up to Abby's final admission that she still had a 'massive crush'. Everyone agreed they made a cute couple... and Tony was happy, because it took some of the attention away from him and Louisa.

Gradually, the chatter on the NCIS grapevine about the latter pair had changed its slant. Whereas in the beginning, it had consisted mainly of speculation about how many days 'this one' was going to last compared to the others, people were now starting to believe that Tony DiNozzo was actually in a 'normal' relationship, and therefore interest in the whole thing was waning. No-one seriously believed the SFA would ever settle down, but at this point there simply wasn't anything worth gossiping about; that is, until the big bust-up they were all certain would arrive sooner or later.

Louisa looked radiant, in a gold lamé blouse, black slacks and gold 3-inch heels. Tony had worn his best dark blue Zegna suit this day, and had simply loosened his tie and removed his jacket for the evening's festivities. They made a handsome couple, and it was duly noted that they had settled into a comfortable and natural relationship – happy to be together, but no longer joined at the hip. She seemed completely at ease among Tony's co-workers, and made small-talk with everyone from Hannah the payroll clerk, all the way up to the Director.

Vance knew the importance of these symbolic events, and even though he never felt quite comfortable 'mixing with the masses', he did it anyway. It was a good opportunity to keep his finger on the pulse of what was going on in the bullpen. After all, he couldn't very well count on Gibbs, Granich, or Balboa to keep him informed. Knowledge was power, and those three knew it, every bit as well as Vance did. They each had their own little empire to run, and the less interference from the Big Chair, the better.

Gibbs was not present this evening. Gibbs was not a party animal. He was a lone wolf, and Vance supposed he was at home in his basement, working on his boat and drinking bourbon, perfectly content. This did not impress the Director – the Supervisory Agent should be with his team; at the very least, he should make an appearance, wish them Happy Holidays or whatever damned politically correct thing one was supposed to say these days.

But Team Gibbs was used to it – they knew their boss' habits, they knew his absence didn't mean he didn't care. They'd already exchanged gifts and pleasantries this afternoon, as he was packing up to go home. Tony had personally handed him his bottle of Jack Daniels – by now an annual tradition – just as he was about to step onto the elevator heading down to the parking garage. (DiNozzo hadn't entrusted his annual Christmas gift to the post office since 2005, when he'd learned to his horror that Gibbs had received a box of Honey Dust instead due to a screw-up in the mail system).

As was their habit, the Team drank their first toast to Gibbs. After that, it was every man for himself.

Ducky was looking particularly cheerful tonight; his secret paramour was now revealed to be none other than Special Agent Karen Mitchinson, and Abby was all a-twitter over this development. Mitchinson was a good 20 years younger than the stately ME, but she was an 'old soul' as Abby put it, and somehow, they seemed to fit together regardless of the age difference. When the dancing started, they showed everyone how it was done, stepping out to an elegant foxtrot while the rest of the assembly cleared the floor and watched in rapt attention.

Ziva arrived about 9:30, fashionably late, looking radiant in a slinky red dress, and hanging on the arm of a man Tony didn't recognize. But Louisa did.

"Hi Ziva! Hi Joe! Happy Hannukah!" Louisa ran over and wrapped her arms around them each in turn, and Ziva returned the hug warmly. She was actually smiling, Tony noticed, somewhat amazed. He hadn't expected to see his partner here tonight – she was a bit like Gibbs that way, often eschewing parties. But just lately, he'd noticed a change in her. Now that she was an American citizen, one of 'them', she was trying harder to fit in.

Tony gnawed on a chicken wing, and strained to hear the conversation.

"It looks like the party is in full swing," Ziva remarked. "You look gorgeous, by the way." She eyed Louisa up and down admiringly.

"So do you. Is that why you're late?" the petty officer joked.

Ziva shook her head and smiled. "Joe did not get off his shift until 20:30, and he had to get home and clean up after that." Louisa nodded. The very idea of the ninja chick dating a construction worker was beyond imagination, and yet here he stood, all 245 pounds and 6'3" of him.

The city had been ripping up the street outside Ziva's apartment, a job that had seemed to go on for weeks on end, and every morning Joe would greet her with a friendly tip of his hard hat as she walked past to her car. After the first couple of days, they'd started chatting... just the usual, casual and friendly banter one would expect in such a situation. But Joe could tell there was something special, something 'exotic' about this woman, and he wanted to know more. When week two rolled around, he'd plucked up his courage and asked her out for coffee. No-one had been more surprised than Ziva herself when she'd accepted the offer. A couple of days later, she had invited him in for dinner when the crew was packing up. After that, there had been no turning back. But, knowing that DiNozzo would find this incredibly rich fodder for teasing and annoying her, she'd kept it quiet. The only person she'd told was Louisa, when he'd arrived some six weeks earlier to pick up Ziva after a therapy session...

* * *

Louisa had started group therapy around the end of July, to complement her individual sessions. She'd been shy and nervous at the idea of baring her soul to a group of strangers, but as she'd walked in the door, to her amazement her eyes had lit upon Ziva, and she'd made a beeline for the empty chair next to her. Tony had not told his girlfriend much about Ziva's ordeal in Somalia (he didn't really know much anyway, since she'd been so tight-lipped about it). But her presence in the room told Louisa that the wounds went deep.

Over the subsequent months, they'd become fast friends. Even though their experiences had been very different one from the other, the very fact of having been abused, and having been helpless to resist, gave them an understanding of each other that no-one outside that world could comprehend. Ziva had been attending the group for over a year, and had been considering scaling back or stopping entirely; but when Louisa had arrived on the scene, she'd changed her mind, realizing that this woman needed the reassurance of her presence.

* * *

Louisa introduced Joe to Tony, who put his considerable investigative skills to work, and within ten minutes he knew almost everything there was to know about Joe's relationship with the former Mossad agent. Tony predicted it would last no more than a couple of months. Louisa reminded him sternly that this was precisely what everyone had said about the two of _them_, in the beginning.

They danced. They ate. They drank. Vance said a few words. They danced some more – Tony and Louisa drawing attention with a tango, much to everyone's delight. When asked where he'd learned to dance like that, DiNozzo was not entirely forthright, but he credited Arnold Schwarzenegger's performance in '_True Lies'_ as his inspiration.

The party remained in full swing until around 0:00 hours, when gradually people began to disappear, mostly in pairs. There was time for one last slow dance, and Tony made the most of it, holding his little petty officer close and rocking her gently to the music.

After everything wrapped up, there was one last thing he had to do this evening.

* * *

_**Saturday, December 18, 2010 1:23 a.m.**_

Gibbs knew, without looking up, that someone had entered his space. Despite the sound of plane against wood, despite the strains of _'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer'_ that filled the air from the old transistor radio, he could detect the footfalls approaching the top of the basement stairs. And he knew it could only be one of two people.

"I knew I'd find you here, Boss." Not Ducky. Tony.

His hands rested against the hull as he set down the plane and glanced up at the staircase with just the hint of a smile.

"Louisa gone home?"

"Yeah, I dropped her off on my way over… we missed you tonight." Tony descended the stairs and looked over the latest boat shell with fascination. He was still mystified at his boss' penchant for building boats down here, and then somehow removing them.

Gibbs closed his eyes and shook his head, grinning. "Not my thing, and you know it."

"Yeah, I know. I brought you some eggnog."

Tony held up a carton that he'd scooped from the staff party. Gibbs nodded approvingly, moving to the workbench and tipping out two small jars of nails and screws. Reaching down to a shelf below, he pulled up a half-empty bottle of bourbon, and poured a generous portion in each jar. DiNozzo topped them up with the pale yellow liquid, and they each took one.

"I don't think I've ever tried it with Bourbon." Tony examined the jar from all angles, then decided to go for it. He drank deeply, licking his lips and nodding in surprise at the pleasant flavour. "Cheers."

"Feliz Navidad." Gibbs drank his down in one gulp. "Usual suspects there tonight?" he inquired.

Tony nodded. "Ziva's got a boyfriend."

"Yeah, Joe. I know." Tony gave him a _'How the hell do you do that?'_ look, but Gibbs looked inscrutable as ever. "Did Louisa have a good time?"

"I think so. God, she looked gorgeous tonight, Gibbs," Tony gushed.

"Aw, hell, DiNozzo, when you gonna ask her?"

Tony stared at Gibbs in astonishment. "Ask her what?" he questioned, but he knew full well what his boss was talking about. The question was unexpected, and he didn't have an answer. Gibbs looked at him pointedly, not needing to say word one to get his message across. Tony sighed. "I know. I won't deny I've been thinking about it. But… I can't figure out how to tell if she's really 'the one'…"

Gibbs poured them another round, and handing Tony back his jar, motioned for him to sit. "Tony… I don't believe there's such a thing as 'the one'. Who you pick is important, but not nearly as important as the effort you put in."

Tony leaned forward, hanging on every word his boss uttered.

"It's kinda like building a boat," Gibbs mused, stroking the hull of his partially-completed craft lovingly with the palm of his hand. "There's any number of hard or soft woods I could use… maple, mahogany, cedar, teak… as long as I use the right tools, the right technique, put a lot of care and patience into the workmanship, I'll end up with a beautiful boat. It'll look a little different, depending on which material I choose, but one isn't necessarily better than another. On the other hand, if I use cheap tools, or I try to rush the job, I could use the best wood there is and the end result will still be a crappy boat. Might not even be sea-worthy…

"Marriage is kinda like that. As long as you pick good quality raw material, how you treat her is much more important than _who_ you pick." He looked Tony dead in the eye. "I don't have to tell you… Louisa's good quality."

Tony couldn't recall Gibbs ever waxing philosophical in this way. Maybe it was the eggnog?

"I can't believe I'm getting marriage advice from a man who's been married four times."

Gibbs made a face. "I got it right the _first_ time," he pointed out. He thought for a moment, and his expression softened. "When you do, there's nothing quite like it."

DiNozzo downed the last of his drink, and rose to his feet. "Thanks, Boss. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas,Tony."

* * *

_**10:43 a.m.**_

Tony went into his sock drawer and retrieved a flat box, about 5" x 7". He flopped onto the bed, removed the lid, and began to riffle through the contents… a few family photographs… various coins from Italy... petals from the rose he'd laid on his mother's coffin… a red velvet pouch with a black draw string. He pulled it out, loosened the top and let the contents fall into his palm. A ring. His mother's ring. The ring his father had given her, the day he'd asked her to marry him. By tradition, left to Junior when she had died.

He gazed at it in awe. It was stunning – white gold, studded with diamonds all the way around – a 'veretta', symbolizing the eternity of love. He wondered whether his parents would have stayed together, if his mother hadn't died. It had been a rocky relationship, there was no doubt… plenty of arguing, plenty of tears, and more than once, a household object flying through the air. Lots of alcohol to lubricate it all. And yet, he knew deep down that Louisa was right – his father had been wracked with grief when he'd lost his wife. At the heart, there had been love there. Maybe things would have settled down over time… maybe they would have eventually found a way to co-exist peacefully and happily.

Tony fingered the ring, examining it carefully. It was a little big for Louisa's tiny hand. But surely they could make it smaller? He reached into his pocket and pulled out another ring… one he'd secretly lifted from her jewel box last week. She didn't wear this one often – with any luck, he'd be able to slip it back in its place before she noticed it was missing – but when she did wear it, it was always on the fourth finger of her right hand, so it had to be pretty close to the right size. He slipped it into the bag along with the veretta, and headed out to I. Gorman Jewellers.

Later that evening, he went back to the jewellery store and picked up the newly-cleaned, now-size five engagement ring. The store clerk let it drop into his palm from the velvet bag, and he examined it in the light. It was perfect; and one week from today, on Christmas morning, surrounded by her family, he would drop to one knee and slip it onto her finger, making sure that she first read the inscription he'd lovingly selected to be engraved inside the band:

_Semper Fidelis_

THE END


End file.
